He found Beekman sitting in his accustomed chair on the bridge, charting with Kellie and drinking coffee. They were looking down as the last of the mountains passed out of the picture. A herd of animals moved deliberately across the plain.

"What are they?" Marcel asked.

Beekman shrugged. "Fur-bearing something-or-others," he said. "The local equivalent of reindeer. Except with white fur. Did you want me to bring up the archives?"

It wasn't necessary. Marcel had just been making conversation. He knew that the animals on Deepsix were by and large variations on well-established forms. They had all the usual organs, brains, circulatory systems, a tendency toward symmetry. A lot of exoskeletons here. Heavy bone on both sides of the wrapper. Most plants used chlorophyll.

Insects on Deepsix ranged all the way up to beasts the size of a German shepherd.

Detail was lacking because, as the whole world knew, the Nightingale expedition nineteen years ago had been attacked by local wildlife on its first day. No one had been on the ground since. Research had been limited to satellite observations.

"It's a pleasant enough world," said Beekman. "It would have made a good prospect for your old bosses."

He meant Kosmik, Inc., whose Planetary Construction Division selected and terraformed worlds for use as human outposts. "Too cold," said Marcel. "The place is a refrigerator."

"Actually it's not bad near the equator. And in any case it's only temporary. Another few centuries and it would have been away from the dust and everything would have gone back to normal."

"I don't think my old bosses were much at taking the long view."

Beekman shrugged. "There aren't that many suitable worlds available, Marcel. Actually, I think Deepsix would have been rather a nice place to take over."