and to do a little briefing in turn."

The transport plane turned clumsily and began to taxi down the runway.
It jolted and bumped over the tarmac, then lifted, and Joe saw that the
island was nearly all airfield. There were a few small buildings and
distance-dwarfed hangars. Beyond the field proper there was a ring of
white surf. That was all. The rest was ocean.

"I haven't much briefing to do," admitted Joe.

Then he looked at the briefcase the other man opened. It had sheets and
sheets of paper in it--hundreds, it seemed. They were filled with
questions. He'd be called on to find answers for most of them, and to
admit he didn't know the answers to the rest. When he was through with
this questioning, every possible useful fact he knew would be on file
for future use. And now he wrily recognized that this was part payment
for the efficiency and speed with which the Navy had trailed them on
their landing, and for the use of a transport plane to take them back to
the United States.

"I'll try to answer what I can," he said cautiously. "But what're you to
brief me about?"

"That you're not back on Earth yet," said the officer curtly, pulling
out the first sheaf of questions. "Officially you haven't even started
back. Ostensibly you're still on the Platform."

Joe blinked at him.

"If your return were known," continued the lieutenant, "the public would