Franklan hadn't seen it because he hadn't looked, but there had been a bird out there, or there hadn't. If not, Alsint's contact with reality was precarious and he'd have to watch himself. Franklan had hinted at that. Maybe he wanted Alsint to believe it.
But it didn't mean there hadn't been an actual bird. It could be put there in a plastic bubble that wasn't visible against the blackness of space. If so, it was an ingenious way of harassing him.
He relaxed at that formulation. It hadn't been worth the effort, but it did prove one thing—his unknown antagonist had an excellent imagination.
Time passed—days, perhaps, though that unit had little meaning on the ship. It was the work period which counted and nobody had bothered to tell him how long that was. The last planet of the system was analyzed and the permanent markers sent down. The star was tagged and the ship proceeded on its way.
What the destination was, Alsint didn't know and didn't inquire. They were going somewhere, to uncatalogued stars, and that was enough to know.
His hands healed and the bandages were removed. Larienne was reassigned to help him. The rest of the crew, whatever they guessed, or sensed, said nothing and the normal pattern of life on the tag ship seemed re-established.
His anxiety faded. It was not, he was sure, the end of the attempts to remove him, but he had time to think, to plan countermeasures.
He was not wholly prepared. He and Larienne were approaching the plant. The door was open and he could see inside. He glanced casually at the row on row of mechanism, and stopped.
"What's the matter?" asked Larienne.