"Do you really think we can get anywhere without letting more human beings know about me?" the alien asked. "We're going to need a lot of help."

"I'm hoping for most from Doc Seever," Bob replied. "His hours are kind of irregular, of course, since there's no way to predict sickness or injury there on the island, but he certainly knows more of what has to be known than anyone else there. Dad'll be too busy to help, most of the time. We really should have some people who are either a lot lower in the PFI chain of command and don't have much but eight-to-five responsibilities, or people who don't work for the outfit at all. The latter will be hard to find on Ell."

"Your mother is a competent person."

"She'll have to spend too much time looking after Silly."

"Your sister is six years old, now. She shouldn't need very much of your mother's time-won't she be in school by now?"

"Maybe. I've almost forgotten when school keeps down here."

The discussion was interrupted by a tap on Bob's shoulder, felt by both speakers. Both looked ahead, the Hunter having no choice in the matter. The island which Bob regarded as home, though he had been away from it well over half the time for the last ten years, was clearly visible ahead, the low sun accenting the ridges which formed the two arms of the L-shape, and gleaming from the square outlines of the culture tanks which studded the lagoon. Dulac banked a trifle to the right, and eased back on the throttles.

"Well be down in fifteen minutes," he assured his passenger.