The two Vegans leaned over the ridge. While Gop forced the writhing folds of the tharn-field apart with two reconstituted tentacles, Pud reached in, plucked the little alien out and set it upright.
It immediately scrabbled up the side of the ridge as fast as it could and joined its mate, which had bounded up the other side.
"Now look at what you've done!" Pud raged. "What about the rules on Contact! The Examiners will get this out of us when we report on our Projects ... mountains of bites, we've revealed ourselves!"
"Not really, Master," Gop said, rushing his thoughts. "All the creature will know is that it tumbled into the field, and then was somehow ejected by it ... a trick of gravity, perhaps ... a magnetic vortex ... it won't know what really happened—"
"That—field—was—supposed—to—be—turned—off," Pud said, every one of his faces green with rage.
"I—"
"You are a stupid, clumsy, few-headed piece of provender!"
Gop flushed clear down to his tails. "I'm sorry," he said. "I can't think of everything at once! I must have accidentally activated the tharn when I moved it. I'm sorry!"
Pud clapped a tentacle to his prime forehead. "What next!" he moaned.