"Right," came Rabaul's voice.
The planter switched off the telecast. He looked at Cosmo, smiled, said: "Whistle 'em down, Cosmo, that's all. My Jovians will take care of the rest."
"It's daylight," said the Blue Venus with an air of childish surprise. She was looking out the windows.
Cosmo was aware of the heat, all at once. It curled about him like a steaming towel. He looked at Mia. There were circles under her eyes. Her hair was tangled, her tunic in threads. "Poor kid," he said.
Bemmelman glanced at his watch. "Your men should be up in the clouds now, waiting? Eh, Cosmo?"
Cosmo said: "They'll be up there."
"We'll give them another hour," said Bemmelman, "to be on the safe side." He rang for a servant, ordered breakfast served in the office.
They picked at their food listlessly when it arrived. Bemmelman kept glancing at his watch. At length, he stood up, turned to the slave girl. "Call the Security Patrol, Llana."
Cosmo frowned, but said nothing.
"What should I tell them?" asked Llana snapping on the telecast.