Paddy was not listening. He rubbed his chin, frowned. "Now I wonder-"
Fay said, "The Langtry ships around Earth are like bees around a honeycomb. Just hoping someone will try to smuggle the sheets to Earth."
"If we could only beam the information in on the space-wave."
"They'd jam us- and if we kept trying too long in one spot they'd triangulate and run us down." She rose and rubbed her hands nervously on the seat of her slacks.
"There's still another chance," said Paddy. "Celestial Express, to Earth Agency."
"Mmmmmmmph. You're out of your mind."
Paddy reached for the Astral Almanac. "Not so fast, not so fast," he muttered. "The Blackthorn brain is a wonderful thing." He licked his finger, turned a page, searched down a column. "Pshaw! No deliveries being made this year."
"Will you stop being cryptic long enough to tell me what you're looking for?"
"Oh," said Paddy, "I thought there might be a comet cutting in from outer space close to Earth. Then we could include the sheets as part of the baggage. But there's nothing listed, nothing for another eight months."
Fay narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, said nothing. Paddy shrugged. "I guess we take our chances. There's still that old Blackthorn luck."
Oyster-white Koto hung below, Koto the twilight-planet.
"It's a frightening place," murmured Fay. "So dim and dark."
Paddy essayed a confident laugh and was surprised at the shrill sound which left his mouth. "Now then, Fay, it'll go fast. One, two, three-down, up, off again, like old Finnigan at Bantry Station."
"I hope so, Paddy."
"Now we'll wait till those forts are spaced just enough to chance dropping our boat through."
Fay pointed. "There's a big hole out there over the Cai-Lur Quadrant."
"Down we go," said Paddy. "Now pray to Saint Anthony if you be a good Catholic-"
"I'm not," snapped Fay, "and if you'll give more mind to the boat and less to religion we'll gain by it."
Paddy shook his head reproachfully. "If old Father O'Toole would hear you, how he'd tut-tut-tut. Turn off the lights then and douse the field on the cowcatcher if we want to help our chances."
Koto bulged across their vision. "Now!" said Paddy. "Off with all power and we fall like a dead rock and hope they're not too vigilant in the forts."
Ten minutes, twenty minutes passed. Silent and tense they sat in the dark cabin, their pale faces lit by the reflected glow of Koto.
The horizons spread, they felt the cushioning crush of air below them.
"We're past," breathed Fay. "We're down. Turn on the power, Paddy."
"Not yet. We'll get clear down into the traffic lanes."
The twilight surface of Cai-Lur Steppe rushed close. "The power, Paddy! Do you want to crash?"
"Not yet."
"Paddy! Those trees!"
A quick gust of power, a wrench of the rudder-the boat swooped belly-down, only yards from the surface, and charged hedge-hopping across the plain.
"Now then," said Paddy cheerfully, "and where's Arma-Geth from here?"
Fay pulled herself up into the seat. "You reckless idiot!"
"The lower we go, the safer," Paddy told her. "And Arma-Geth?"
She looked at the chart. "Magnetic compass one hundred fifty-three. About a thousand kilometers. There's a rather large city-Dhad-in our way. The traffic regulations for Koto-let's see." She flipped pages in Traffic Regulations of All Worlds. "Fourth level for us. Speed, two thousand KPH. If I were you I'd swing around Dhad."
Paddy shrugged. "On the fourth level we're just as safe over the town as over the country. Maybe safer if anyone has reported a strange space-boat."
Dhad swung below, a low city of flat wide roofs, glowing pearl-colored in the darkness, and presently was left astern. They crossed a range of mountains, rose to dodge Mt. Zacauh, a perfect cone eight miles high, slanted down across the Plain of Thish.
They dropped low, hovered, strained their eyes through the darkness. Paddy muttered, "It must be close."
Fay rose, "I'll try infra-red." A moment later, "I see it- about ten miles to the left. It looks quiet. You can drop down a little-there's nothing below us."
With the skids almost dragging Paddy edge the boat toward Arma-Geth.
"About three miles," said Fay. "That's close enough. We don't know how well it's guarded or even it it's guarded at all."
Paddy set the ship down and the solid vibrationless ground felt curiously still, dead, silent, after the dynamic flight-motion of the boat. Throwing open the port they put out their heads, listened. No sound, except for a soft distant chirring of insects. Three miles ahead, black on the gray luminescence of Koto's sky, rose a confused group of silhouettes.
"Now," said Paddy thickly, "my tools, my gun, my light. I'll be out there and back in less time than you'll know." She watched him strap on his equipment. "Paddy-"
"What now?"
"I should be coming with you."
"Perhaps you should," Paddy agreed easily. "And if so I'll come back for you. But right now it's only a reconnaissance I'm making and you're the rear guard. Unless of course the stuff is there for the taking, so ridiculously easy that I can't resist it."
"Be careful, Paddy."
"Indeed I will, you can count on it. And you mind for your own safety. Be ready to jump if it gets dangerous. If there's any shooting or disturbance-don't wait for me."
He dropped to the ground, stood listening. Chirr, chirr, chirr-a sound like a billion tiny bells.
Paddy started briskly for the silhouettes, treading the smooth swept surface of the plain. The silhouettes grew, towered past the gray afterglow, loomed up to the stars. There was no sound, no hint of movement, no lights. More slowly he advanced, ears and eyes like funnels.
He came to a stone wall, cold and moist, high as his head. He felt along the top, grasped the edge, hauled himself up. He was on a great stone pavilion. To either side rose dark statues-the Koton Sons of Langtry, row after rigid row, conventionalized, sitting in low chairs, staring with wide mother-of-pearl eyes across the sacred Plain of Thish.
Paddy sat a moment quietly, listening, every nerve in his body alive, groping for sensation. He rose to his feet, moved across the stone to the nearest statue. Where was the latest?
Logically it should be the last statue of the series at the end of a row.
He felt along the base of the statue nearest him, looked along the sides, saw in faintly luminescent letters-Lajory, 17th Son of Langry; Following it was a series of dates and ceremonial phrases.
He must be close, thought Paddy. The late Son was the nineteenth of the line. To his ears came the shuffle of footsteps on the stone. He clapped his hand to his gun, froze.
A pair of dark figures passed thirty feet away. There was the milky flash of great night-seeing eyes and they were gone. Had they seen him? Paddy pondered. They had seemed neither surprised nor startled. Perhaps they had mistaken him for a devotee. Best to make haste in any event.
He moved to the next statue. Golgach, 18th Son of Langtry," read the plaque.
To the next. Ladha-Kudh, 19th Son of Langtry. Here was his goal with the fifth sheet under the right hand. The hand lay on the knee, palm downward. Paddy looked up. Twenty feet. He took a last look around. No sight, no sound, no one to watch for thieving intruders.
He set his toe in a cleft, heaved himself up on the pedestal. The shuffle of steps-Paddy flattened against a pillar of the great chair. The sound passed.