"Shaddap," answered Tim with no inflection. He added, "You want trouble with him? You want to chew space?"
"But-"
"Shaddap."
They carried me around a curved corridor, into an inner room and dumped me on the floor.
I was face up but it took time to realize this must be the control room. It didn't look like anything any human would design as a control room, which wasn't surprising as no human had. Then I saw him.
Peewee needn't have warned me; I didn't want to antagonize him.
The little guy was tough and dangerous, the fat guy was mean and murderous; they were cherubs compared with him. If I had had my strength I would have fought those two any way they liked; I don't think I'm too afraid of any human as long as the odds aren't impossible.
But not him.
He wasn't human but that wasn't what hurt. Elephants aren't human but they are very nice people. He was built more like a human than an elephant is but that was no help-I mean he stood erect and had feet at one end and a head at the other. He was no more than five feet tall but that didn't help either; he dominated us the way a man dominates a horse. The torso part was as long as mine; his shortness came from very squat legs, with feet (I guess you would call them feet) which bulged out, almost disc-like. They made squashy, sucking sounds when he moved. When he stood still a tail, or third leg, extruded and turned him into a tripod-he didn't need to sit down and I doubt if he could.
Short legs did not make him slow. His movements were blurringly fast, like a striking snake. Does this mean a better nervous system and more efficient muscles? Or a native planet with higher gravity?
His arms looked like snakes-they had more joints than ours. He had two sets, one pair where his waist should have been and another set under his head. No shoulders. I couldn't count his fingers, or digit tendrils; they never held still. He wasn't dressed except for a belt below and above the middle arms which carried whatever such a thing carries in place of money and keys. His skin was purplish brown and looked oily.
Whatever he was, he was not the same race as the Mother Thing.
He had a faint sweetish musky odor. Any crowded room smells worse on a hot day, but if I ever whiff that odor again, my skin will crawl and I'll be tongue-tied with fright.
I didn't take in these details instantly; at first all I could see was his face. A "face" is all I can call it. I haven't described it yet because I'm afraid I'll get the shakes. But I will, so that if you ever see one, you'll shoot first, before your bones turn to jelly.
No nose. He was an oxygen breather but where the air went in and out I couldn't say-some of it through the mouth, for he could talk. The mouth was the second worst part of him; in place of jawbone and chin he had mandibles that opened sideways as well as down, gaping in three irregular sides. There were rows of tiny teeth but no tongue that I could see; instead the mouth was rimmed with cilia as long as angleworms. They never stopped squirming.
I said the mouth was "second worst"; he had eyes. They were big and bulging and protected by horny ridges, two on the front of his head, set wide apart.
They scanned. They scanned like radar, swinging up and down and back and forth. He never looked at you and yet was always looking at you.
When he turned around, I saw a third eye in back. I think he scanned his whole surroundings at all times, like a radar warning system.
What kind of brain can put together everything in all directions at once? I doubt if a human brain could, even if there were any way to feed in the data. He didn't seem to have room in his head to stack much of a brain, but maybe he didn't keep it there. Come to think of it, humans wear their brains in an exposed position; there may be better ways.
But he certainly had a brain. He pinned me down like a beetle and squeezed out what he wanted. He didn't have to stop to brainwash me; he questioned and I gave, for an endless time-it seemed more like days than hours. He spoke English badly but understandably. His labials were all alike-"buy" and "pie" and "vie" sounded the same. His gutturals were harsh and his dentals had a clucking quality. But I could usually understand and when I didn't, he didn't threaten or punish; he just tried again. He had no expression in his speech.
He kept at it until he had found out who I was and what I did and as much of what I knew as interested him. He asked questions about how I happened to be where I was and dressed the way I was when I was picked up. I couldn't tell whether he liked the answers or not.
He had trouble understanding what a "soda jerk" was and, while he learned about the Skyway Soap contest, he never seemed to understand why it took place. But I found that there were a lot of things I didn't know either-such as how many people there are on Earth and how many tons of protein we produce each year.
After endless time he had all he wanted and said, "Take it out." The stooges had been waiting. The fat boy gulped and said, "Space him?"
He acted as if killing me or not were like saving a piece of string. "No. It is ignorant and untrained, but I may have use for it later. Put it back in the pen."
"Yes, boss."
They dragged me out. In the corridor Fatty said, "Let's untie his feet and make him walk."
Skinny said, "Shaddap."
Peewee was just inside the entrance panel but didn't move, so I guess she had had another dose of that blue-light effect. They stepped over her and dumped me. Skinny chopped me on the side of the neck to stun me. When I came to, they were gone, I was unstrapped, and Peewee was sitting by me. She said anxiously, "Pretty bad?"
"Uh, yeah," I agreed, and shivered. "I feel ninety years old."
"It helps if you don't look at him-especially his eyes. Rest a while and you'll feel better." She glanced at her watch. "It's only forty-five minutes till we land. You probably won't be disturbed before then."
"Huh?" I sat up. "I was in there only an hour?"
"A little less. But it seems forever. I know."
"I feel like a squeezed orange." I frowned, remembering something. "Peewee, I wasn't too scared when they came for me. I was going to demand to be turned loose and insist on explanations. But I never asked him a question, not one."
"You never will. I tried. But your will just drains out. Like a rabbit in front of a snake."
"Yes."
"Kip, do you see why I had to take just any chance to get away? You didn't seem to believe my story-do you believe it now?"
"Uh, yes. I believe it."
"Thanks. I always say I'm too proud to care what people think, but I'm not, really. I had to get back to Daddy and tell him... because he's the only one in the entire world who would simply believe me, no matter how crazy it sounded."
"I see. I guess I see. But how did you happen to wind up in Centerville?"
"Centerville?"
"Where I live. Where ‘Junebug' called ‘Peewee.' "
"Oh. I never meant to go there. I meant to land in New Jersey, in Princeton if possible, because I had to find Daddy."
"Well, you sure missed your aim."
"Can you do better? I would have done all right but I had my elbow joggled. Those things aren't hard to fly; you just aim and push for where you want to go, not like the complicated things they do about rocket ships. And I had the Mother Thing to coach me. But I had to slow down going into the atmosphere and compensate for Earth's spin and I didn't know quite how. I found myself too far west and they were chasing me and I didn't know what to do ... and then I heard you on the space-operations band and thought everything was all right-and there I was." She spread her hands. "I'm sorry, Kip."