I faced the direction of the landing area and resolved a resolve.

"You want me for local coloring, gal. It'll look nice on the featurepage and all that. But clear this--If anyone gets you an Ikky, it'll be me.I promise."

I stood in the empty Square. The foggy towers of Lifeline shared theirmists.

Shoreline a couple eras ago, the western slope above Lifeline stretchesas far as forty miles inland in some places. Its angle of rising is not agreat one, but it achieves an elevation of several thousand feet before itmeets the mountain range which separates us from the Highlands. About fourmiles inland and five hundred feet higher than Lifeline are set most of thesurface airstrips and privately owned hangars. Hangar Sixteen houses Cal'sContract Cab, hop service, shore to ship. I do not like Cal, but he wasn'taround when I climbed from the bus and waved to a mechanic.

Two of the hoppers tugged at the concrete, impatient beneath flywinghaloes. The one on which Steve was working belched deep within its barrelcarburetor and shuttered spasmodically.

"Bellyache?" I inquired.

"Yeah, gas pains and heartburn."

He twisted setscrews until it settled into an even keening, and turnedto me.

"You're for out?"

I nodded.

"Tensquare. Cosmetics. Monsters. Stuff like that."

He blinked into the beacons and wiped his freckles. The temperature wasabout twenty, but the big overhead spots served a double purpose.

"Luharich," he muttered. "Then you _are_ the one. There's some peoplewant to see you."

"What about?"

"Cameras. Microphones. Stuff like that."

"I'd better stow my gear. Which one am I riding?"

He poked the screwdriver at the other hopper.

"That one. You're on video tape now, by the way. They wanted to get youarriving."

He turned to the hangar, turned back.