I saw Fern, walking among the conifers, her face a pale mask of strain. "You heard it, Jake?"
I nodded.
We sat in the aquamarine twilight, and Fern was shivering, and I put my arm around her.
"Looks like altruism is a relative thing," I said. "What do they want?"
"Uncontaminated Terms," she said bitterly. "No science, no stars, no wars and no progress. A big beautiful planet-mind, the Term mind, forever static, forever dead."
"It's a bluff," I said. "Our little fanatic's stalling for time, hoping to stampede us while he finds another way."
"For example?"
"Why do you think we insist on basic English for all Terms? Supposing a foreman should start jabbering Terminese during an operation. The Terms would revert, we'd have a line shutdown. They can't adjust—say!" A random thought was nibbling at my brain. "Where was Carmody this morning? Just before I reeled in?"
Her fine brows knitted. "Why, he went—oh, Jake, surely you don't think—?"
"Went where?"