There was no answer. He climbed the slope, slippery with snow despite the skid-treads, and stopped before the two men. Brown nodded at him.
"Here's our guide, Commander Benson."
Benson scowled incredulously under tufted brows. "What the devil! You—you're an Earthman!"
"Sure," Garth said. "What about it?"
The Commander glanced at Brown. "I expected a native. I didn't know—" He left the sentence hanging. "You can't wear those rags, man. Captain, break out some clothes for him." Without another look at Garth, Benson hurried down the ramp, shouting orders to someone below.
Brown grinned at the other. "Come on inside," he urged, and, in a lower tone, "He's the big shot. You know enough to keep your mouth shut—eh?"
Garth nodded. Brown peered at him sharply.
"You need coffee. I'll lace it. Come along." He took Garth to the galley, and, presently, supplied food, drink, and clothing. He lit a cigaret, idly watching the smoke sucked into the air-conditioning grill.
"Benson's a tough egg," he said at last. "If he had the slightest idea we were figuring on—what we're figuring on, there'd be trouble. The Commander never takes chances. We've got to give him the slip, somehow."
Garth gulped coffee. "How many men do you have?"