On the other hand, if I pressed the stud, the bird might turn on me. And
then all my troubles would be over for good.
If I delayed past Evarin's deadline, and did nothing, the other bird in
his keeping would hunt down Juli and give her a swift and not too
painless death.
I spent most of the day in a _chak_ dive, juggling plans. Toys, innocent
and sinister. Spies, messengers. Toys which killed horribly. Toys which
could be controlled, perhaps, by the pliant mind of a child, and every
child hates its parents now and again!
Even in the Terran colony, who was safe? In Mack's very home, one of the
Magnusson youngsters had a shiny thing which might, or might not, be one
of Evarin's hellish Toys. Or was I beginning to think like a
superstitious Dry-towner?
Damn it, Evarin couldn't be infallible; he hadn't even recognized me as
Race Cargill! Or--suddenly the sweat broke out, again, on my
forehead--_or had he_? Had the whole thing been one of those sinister,
deadly and incomprehensible nonhuman jokes?
I kept coming to the same conclusion.
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