After a second he stopped, waited. Then faintly an answer came back from the box. Deedeedee dideedidit—
And silence. Satisfied, the man closed the box, slowed the skid to a point where its guidance no longer required complete attention. They had reached the ring of ice hummocks that surrounded Woller's dome. The skid bounded over the first rise, zoomed through that trough and the next; then the man kicked the rudder jets. It spun along the trough to where the hummocks were highest; then he cut the jets.
He turned to Nolan, threw back his helmet.
"My God," gasped Nolan. "Pete!"
Petersen grinned. "You called it, boy," he admitted. "Don't I get around though?"
Nolan closed his eyes and tightened his grip on the back of his chair. "The story," he said. "Quick."
Petersen shrugged. "How can I tell it quick? It's long.... Maybe if I tell you one thing you can fill in the details."
"What's the one thing?"
"I work for TPL."