"We-e-ll," McAllen said judiciously, turning a little pale, "that, of
course, depends on whether he _is_ still alive and sane: But if he has
survived the five years, I do believe that he will not be dissatisfied
with what has happened to him. However"--he shrugged again--"let's get
ahead with it. Five years has been a long time to find out whether or
not I've murdered a man."
In the momentary silence that followed, he setted himself in the chair
Fredericks had vacated, and glanced over at Simms. "You stay seated,
Mel," he said. "You represent Psychology here. Use your chair scanner.
The plate's still showing no indications of clearing, John?"
"No," said Fredericks. "In another two hours we might have a good
picture there. Hardly before."
McAllen said, "We won't wait for it. Simms and I can determine through
the scanners approximately what has been going on." He was silent a
few seconds; then the blurred red globe in the plate expanded swiftly,
filled two thirds of the view space, checked for a moment, then grew
once more; finally stopped.
McAllen said irritably, "John, I'm afraid you'll have to take over. My
hands don't seem steady enough to handle this properly."
* * * * *
A minute or two passed. The big plate grew increasingly indistinct,
all details lost in a muddy wash of orange-brown shades. Green
intruded suddenly; then McAllen muttered, "Picking up the cabin now."
There was a moment of silence, then Fredericks cleared his throat. "So
far so good, Oliver. We're looking into the cabin. Can't see your man
yet--but someone's living here. Eh, Simms?"
"Obviously," the psychologist acknowledged. He hesitated. "And at a
guess it's no maniac. The place is in reasonably good order."
"You say Chard isn't in the cabin?" Spalding demanded.
Fredericks said, "Not unless he's deliberately concealing himself. The
exit door is open. Hm-m-m. Well, the place isn't entirely deserted,
after all."
"What do you mean?" asked Spalding.
"Couple of squirrels sitting in the window," Simms explained.
"In the window? Inside the cabin?"
"Yes," said Fredericks. "Either they strayed in while he was gone, or
he's keeping them as pets. Now, should we start looking around outside
for Chard?"
"No," Spalding decided. "The Base is too big to attempt to cover at
pin-point focus. If he's living in the cabin and has simply gone out,
he'll return within a few hours at the most. We'll wait and see what
we can deduce from the way he behaves when he shows up." He turned to
McAllen. "Ollie," he said, "I think you might allow yourself to relax
just a little. This doesn't seem at all bad!"
McAllen grunted. "I don't know," he said. "You're overlooking one
thing."
"What's that?"
"I told Chard when to expect us. Unless he's smashed the clock, he
knows we're due today. If nothing's wrong--wouldn't he be waiting in
the cabin for us?"
Spalding hesitated. "That is a point. He seems to be hiding out. May
have prepared an ambush, for that matter. John--"
"Yes?" Fredericks said.
"Step the tubescope down as fine as it will go, and scan that cabin as
if you were vacuuming it. There may be some indication--"
"He's already doing that," Simms interrupted.
There was silence again for almost two minutes. Forefinger and thumb
of Fredericks' right hand moved with infinite care on a set of dials
on the side of the scanner; otherwise neither he nor Simms stirred.
"Oh-hoo-hoo-HAW!" Dr. John Fredericks cried suddenly. "Oh-hoo-hoo-HAW!
A message, Ollie! Your Mr. Chard has left you a ... hoo-hoo ...
message."
For a moment McAllen couldn't see clearly through the scanner.
Fredericks was still laughing; Simms was saying in a rapid voice,
"It's quite all right, doctor! Quite all right. Your man's sane, quite
sane. In fact you've made, one might guess, a one hundred per cent
convert to the McAllen approach to life. Can't you _see_ it?"
"No," gasped McAllen. He had a vague impression of the top of the desk
in the main room of the cabin, of something white--a white card--taped
to it, of blurred printing on the card. "Nothing's getting _that_ boy
unduly excited any more," Simms' voice went on beside him. "Not even
the prospect of seeing visitors from Earth for the first time in five
years. But he's letting you know it's perfectly all right to make
yourself at home in his cabin until he gets back. Here, let me--"
He reached past McAllen, adjusted the scanner. The printing on the
card swam suddenly into focus before McAllen's eyes.
The message was terse, self-explanatory, to the point: