VII
The icy wind blew snow crystals stingingly against Retief's face.
"Keep your hands in your pockets, Chip," he said. "Numb hands won't hack the program."
"Yeah." Chip looked across at the tank. "Useta think that was a perty thing, that Resartus," he said. "Looks mean, now."
"You're getting the target's-eye view," Retief said. "Sorry you had to get mixed up in this, Old Timer."
"Mixed myself in. Durn good thing, too." Chip sighed. "I like these folks," he said. "Them boys didn't like lettin' us come out here, but I'll give 'em credit. They seen it had to be this way, and they didn't set to moanin' about it."
"They're tough people, Chip."
"Funny how it sneaks up on you, ain't it, Mister? Few minutes ago we was eatin' high on the hog. Now we're right close to bein' dead men."
"They want us alive, Chip."
"It'll be a hairy deal, Mister," Chip said. "But t'hell with it. If it works, it works."