Bemmelman stamped out of the tower. He scoured the low roof of clouds, an ominous glitter in his pig-like eyes.
"Where are they?"
"You know as much about it as I do." Cosmo shrugged. "They're not there or they'd come down."
"If you're tricking me...."
"How the hell would I be tricking you?" Cosmo asked irritably. "You heard me give my orders over the telecast. They're not there, that's all. And I'm damn glad they're not!"
The planter continued to stare at him suspiciously. Cosmo could feel his plan hanging precariously in the balance, then Bemmelman said: "It doesn't matter, I suppose. They can be rounded up later. The Security Patrol will be here any moment." He shoved Cosmo ahead of him into the tower.
Cosmo let his breath escape evenly. He could feel little beads of sweat on his forehead.
The red-faced planter slipped the dart gun out of his pocket. "Rabaul," he ordered grumpily; "Get the men back to their quarters."
The Martian elevated his eyebrows, but Bemmelman vouchsafed no explanation. The planter watched his overseer herd the men down the stair, then turned to Cosmo as the last of the Jovians were disappearing. The dart gun dangled in his fist at his side. His eyes were mean.
"Get a move on," he said sharply.