Jimmy looked up unhappily. "Tell me something. Suppose you did find a way to get through that thing, even got all the way out of here?" he said. "I don't think you ever will, but what if you did? What would you do then?"
"Then," Dannerman said, "I'd figure out what to do next, but we'd be that much ahead. As long as we're stuck in here we can't do anything at all."
Jimmy shrugged, but said nothing. Neither did anyone else; some truths were too obvious to be argued.
Then, "But this is interesting," Rosaleen called from her place at a far wall, gazing at the floor.
"What is?"
Rosaleen gestured to where she had relieved herself. "The urine is disappearing. Look, there is only a trace now, and it is getting less."
Even Jimmy Lin got up to see that. It was true. The tiny pool of pale liquid was dwindling, and a moment later it was gone. Martin Delasquez hesitated, then stopped to touch the floor where it had been. "Dry," he reported. He didn't need to. They could all see for themselves that there was no trace of urine, not even a faint stain on the milky-white, slightly resilient flooring.
"Well," Rosaleen said encouragingly. "At least we seem to have a sewage system."
Martin scowled at her. "But still no food and nothing to drink."
She shrugged. "And nothing we can do about it, either, is there? Meanwhile I am quite tired. I think I will try to sleep."
Pat watched, incredulous and almost admiring, as the old woman lay down on her side, curled in the fetal position, folded her hands under her cheek and closed her eyes. "You know," Pat said, "I could use some sleep myself."
"We all could," Dannerman said. "But one of us ought to stay awake."
Jimmy giggled. "Are you talking about setting sentries? To guard against what?"
"Against I don't know what," Dannerman said, "but that's the exact reason why I think one of us should stay up. I'll take the first turn, if you like."
Martin Delasquez said heavily, "Yes, I agree we should set a guard and, yes, we might as well sleep, since we have nothing better to do. Perhaps we will think more clearly when we are refreshed, so, very well, let us- Wait! What is that?"
He didn't have to ask; they all saw what was happening at the same time. A patch of one wall clouded momentarily, then bulged into a pair of figures as the Dopey and a Doc came through. The Doc was carrying small parcels in several of its arms; the Dopey gestured, and the Doc began setting the parcels on the floor as the wall closed seamlessly behind them.
Dannerman wrinkled up his nose. "That's what I was smelling on Starlab!" he said, staring at the Doc. "It was that thing!"
All the captives were standing in a defensive clump now, even Rosaleen, watching warily. Pat Ad-cock sniffed. Yes, there was a queer odor, not entirely unpleasant-part of it like something from a spice rack, part something sour and distasteful. There was no doubt that it came from the extraterrestrials. She stared at them, realizing for the first time just how unhuman they were. The Dopey was not at all human in form-torso like a Thanksgiving turkey's, but a big one; its prissy little feline face at the level of Pat's chest. It wore clothing-a sort of pastel-mauve muumuu-and it carried a kind of muff made of coppery metal mesh. After it had signed an order to the Doc it put its hands back in the muff before Pat could get a good look at its fingers. There was something odd about them, but she wasn't sure what. Then, as it turned slightly, she saw that the muumuu had an opening in the back from which protruded a scaly, iridescent, spreading tail as colorful as a peacock's.
Pat felt at least a hint of reassurance from the fact that the Dopey was wearing a garment. Clothing implied civilization; civilization implied some possible, however remote, hope that there could be some sort of meeting of the minds between them. The one they called the "Doc," on the other hand, was almost naked except for a sort of cache-sexe over where she supposed it kept its genitals. It was also very big. More than two meters tall, Pat guessed, at least twice as tall as the Dopey-of course, the snapshots in the message from space had given no indication of scale. And it was not in the least human. The word that crossed Pat's mind was "golem." The thing stood on short, bent legs, like the Greek version of a satyr, but no satyr had ever had six arms, two huge, thick ones at the top, four lesser ones spaced along its torso, and all tipped with sharptaloned paws. Now that she had a better look at the creature she saw that the white beard was not a real beard: the strands feathered out, more like fern fronds than any kind of animal hair. A cluster of the same sort of growth peeped out from the jockstrap garment.
The Dopey worked its slack little mouth for a moment and spoke. "You stated that you required food. These are food, I think."
That took Pat by surprise. "You speak English," she said. It sounded like an accusation; the alien didn't reply.
"Stupid question," Martin reproved her. "He just did speak English. You, then. Will you tell us why we are here?"
"You are here," the creature said, "so that you may be learned." Its voice was shrill and grating, as much like the cawing of a parrot as any human speech, but the words were clear enough.
"Learned what?" the general demanded. The Dopey didn't reply. "For whom?" No answer for that, either, and Rosaleen tried her luck:
"Can you say how we got here?"
The Dopey considered. "Not at present. Perhaps later," it said at last. Pat thought it seemed to be waiting for something, but didn't pursue the thought; she had other things on her mind. Food, for one thing, and she wasn't the only one. Jimmy Lin was rooting around in the sparse collection: mints, apples, corn chips-she recognized the provenance; it was what they had had on their persons in the Clipper. It wasn't much. It was welcome, though; she selected an apple, carefully excavated a bruised spot with a thumbnail, then bit into it. It was as moist as she had hoped.
Jimmy was less pleased. He was muttering dissatisfiedly to himself in Chinese, then looked up at the Dopey and snarled, "Wo zen mo nen chi zhe zhong dong xi!"
The alien didn't miss a beat. "Ni bao li zhi you zhe xie, " it replied. Every human jaw dropped at once, and Pat cried:
"You speak Chinese, too!"
"Of course. Also Cuban-Floridian Spanish and Dr. Artzybachova's Galician dialect of Ukrainian, as well as a number of other human languages. This was necessary for my work on your orbiter. One moment."
It turned to the wall. Almost at once the mirror bulged and admitted a pair of Docs, carrying a large metal object. They set it down and stood waiting. The Dopey said, "You now have all you need. Now you are simply to go about your affairs in the normal way. You may breed if you wish."
That appeared to be all it had to say. It turned and left through the wall, the Docs silently trooping after. Dannerman sprang to the wall as soon as they were through, but, as before, the wall flowed like mercury around the departing aliens, and re-formed as solid as ever.
Well," Dannerman said encouragingly, "at least now we have something to eat. Jimmy? What was that you and the BEM were talking about?"
Lin was looking amused-at least an improvement, Pat thought, over his sullen withdrawal of before. "I was just complaining about the food. I didn't expect an answer, but then he said-in perfectly good Mandarin-that it was all there was among our possessions. But what about the other thing he said, Pat? Are you ready to start doing the breeding bit?"