McFee was happy. A few minor additives had been necessary, but he had ascertained that the liquid and solid components of the drivers' [click] diets were more than adequate fare for him. A brief discussion of his choice of high-traction organic residues for the outer wheel sections of the machine he had constructed, after a few more of the strange physical conflicts with the organic clubs, had resulted in a decision that they were fully acceptable to the local customs. Now his choice of a fission motor was proving inspired; power was plentiful, the bipeds were able to offer him a seemingly endless supply of ingots of a suitable fissionable metal, beautifully milled to any shape he required, and there seemed to be an enthusiastic response when he nervously described the composition of the waste it would generate. As he pulled away from the ship with a screech of tortured tyres, he hardly noticed Peniakov being dragged by the larger bipeds through a hatch in the surface into a black abyss below.
Peniakov was happy. The final vestiges of his sanity had left him as he waded through the liquid toxic wastes on the way from his first to his second shift on the meat-patty-and-congealed-milk-between-bread- slices production line. From time to time he screamed a happy scream of agony as a limb was accidentally severed by the badly maintained machinery. When an explosion in a nearby pit deposited a lump of radioactive metal in his lap, causing severe radiation burns, he almost expired with delight. After five seconds of immobility, a powerful electric shock summoned him back to what he now saw as his life's work. By now he had completely forgotten McFee, Sorensen and the ship; all that mattered was making the next meat-patty-and-congealed-milk-between -bread-slices ready for whichever driver [click] formed a momentary wish for it.
Sorensen was happy. She had panicked at first, and lifted off from the planet as the larger bipeds took Peniakov away. But as she piloted the ship back, alone, towards the homeworld, she mused on what she had seen and wondered. It was a different way from any other she had seen, yet it had an elegant simplicity that intrigued her. Later, she realised that at some point in her musings, a line had been crossed. Leaving the ship on autopilot, she stepped into the lounge, and there, where there had been only a blank wall, was an identical set of animal-hide- bound books to the ones she had seen in Offspring's machine. Starting at the upper right hand corner, she read the title: "The Plan [tm]. Volume 1." Taking it down, she began to read.
Max was *extremely* happy. First roadkill in ages, and he'd even seen bits fly off. It had taken a few days to sober up enough to find the brake pedal, but he'd managed a 180 degree turn and was heading back to the spot. Now where was the other one?