Lackland was not in the room from which this window looked, and the Mesklinite pressed the tiny call button which had been mounted on the ramp. Immediately the Flyer’s voice sounded from a speaker beside the button.
“Glad you’re here, Barl. I’ve been having Mack hold up until you came. I’ll start him down right away, and he should be here by next sunrise.”
“Where is he now? On Toorey?”
“No; he’s drifting at the inner edge of the ring, only six hundred miles up. He’s been there since well before the storm ended, so don’t worry about having kept him waiting yourself. While we’re waiting for him, I’ll bring out the other radios I promised.”
“Since I am alone, it might be well to bring only one radio this time. They are rather awkward things to carry, though light enough, of course.”
“Maybe we should wait for the crawler before I bring them out at all. Then I can ride you back to your ship — the crawler is well enough insulated so that riding outside it wouldn’t hurt you, I’m sure. How would that be?”
“It sounds excellent. Shall we have more language while we wait, or can you show me more pictures of the place you come from?”
“I have some pictures.. It will take a few minutes to load the projector, so it should be dark enough when we’re ready. Just a moment — I’ll come to the lounge.”
The speaker fell silent, and Barlennan kept his eyes on the door which he could see at one side of the room. In a few moments the Flyer appeared, walking upright as usual with the aid of the artificial limbs he called crutches. He approached the window, nodded his massive head at the tiny watcher, and turned to the movie projector. The screen at which the machine was pointed was on the wall directly facing the window; and Barlennan, keeping a couple of eyes on the human being’s actions, squatted down more comfortably in a position from which he could watch it in comfort. He waited silently while the sun arched lazily overhead. It was warm in the full sunlight, pleasantly so, though not warm enough to start a thaw; the perpetual wind from the northern icecap prevented that. He was half dozing while Lackland finished threading the machine, stumped over to his relaxation tank, and lowered himself into it. Barlennan had never noticed the elastic membrane over the surface of the liquid which kept the man’s clothes dry; if he had, it might have modified his ideas about the amphibious nature of human beings. From his floating position Lackland reached up to a small panel and snapped two switches. The room lights went out and the projector started to operate. It was a fifteen-minute reel, and had not quite finished when Lackland had to haul himself once more to his feet and crutches with the information that the rocket was landing.
“Do you want to watch Mack, or would you rather see the end of the reel?” he asked. “He’ll probably be on the ground by the time it’s done.”