Gop's thoughts had the bluish-purple tint of abject apology: "They're landing, Master." Pud looked up from the tiny thig -field he had been shaping in his tentacles. "Of course they are," he thought-snapped. "You practically invited them down, didn't you? If you'd only kept a few eyes on the Detector, instead of day-dreaming—" "I'm sorry," Gop said unhappily. "I wasn't day-dreaming, I was observing the magnificent skill and finesse with which you shaped the thig . After all, this system is so is