Jim bristled. "You're always trying to make out that Willis is stupid. He's not; you just don't understand him."
"Okay, then he can find his way over to the city and deliver the message. Or can't he?"
"Well-I don't like it."
"Which do you prefer, to take a small risk with Willis or to have your mother and your baby brother have to spend the winter at South Colony?"
Jim chewed his lip in a manner just like his father. "All right-we'll try it. Let's go get Willis."
"Don't get in a rush. Neither you nor I know the native language well enough to whip up just what we want to say. But Doc does. He'll help us."
"He's the only one of the grown-ups I'd want to trust with this anyhow. Come on."
They found MacRae easily enough, but were not able to speak with him at once. He was in the communications booth, bellowing at the screen. They could hear his half of the conversation. "I want to talk to Doctor Rawlings. Well, get him, get him-don't sit there chewing your pencil! Tell him it's Doctor MacRae.... Ah, good day. Doctor!.. .No, I just got here... How's business. Doctor? Still cremating your mistakes?... Well, don't we all... Sony, I can't; I'm locked up...Locked up, I said...-L.. .0. ..C. ..K.. .E.. .D up, like a disorderly drunk... No reason, none at all. It's that simian moron, Beecher... Yes, hadn't you heard? The entire colony, penned up in the little red schoolhouse... shoots us down if we so much as stick our noses out... No, I'm not joking. You know Skinny Pottle-he and his wife were killed not two hours ago. Burned down in cold blood, never had a chance... Damn it, man, I don't joke. Come see for yourself and find out what kind of a madman you have ruling you here. The cadavers were still out in the street in front of the school the last time I looked. We don't dare drag mem in and lay them out decently... I said-" The screen suddenly went blank. MacRae swore and fiddled with the controls. Nothing happened.
Presently, by experiment, he realized the instrument had been cut off completely. He came out, shrugging. "Well, they finally caught on to me," he remarked to the room in general, "but I talked to three key men."
"What were you doing. Doc?" asked Jim.
"Starting a little backfire, some fifth column activity behind Beecher's lines. There are good people everywhere, son, but you have to spell it out for them."
"Oh. Look, Doc, could you spare us some time?"
"What for? Your father has a number of things for me to do, Jim."
"This is important." They got MacRae aside and explained to him their plans.
MacRae looked thoughtful. "It just might work. It's worth a whirl. That notion of making use of Martian inviolability is positively Machiavellian, Frank; you should go into politics. However, about the other stunt-the garbage-can paratrooper act-if you ask your father, he'll veto it."
"Can't you ask him? He'll listen to you."
"I said 'If you ask your father,' you idjut. Do I have to wipe your nose for you?"
"Oh. I get you."
"About the other matter-chase up the little beastie and meet me in classroom 'C'; I'm using it as an office."
Jim and Frank left to do so. Jim found his mother and Oliver asleep, his sister and Willis gone. He had started to leave when his mother woke up. "Jimmy?"
"I didn't mean to wake you. Mother. Where's Phyl? I want to find Willis."
"Your sister is in the kitchen, I think, helping out. Isn't Willis here? He was here on the bed with baby and me."
Jim looked around again, but found no sign of Willis. "I'll go ask Phyl. Maybe she came back and got him."
"He can't have wandered far. I'm sorry, Jim."
"I'll find him."
He went to the kitchen, found his sister. "How would I know?" she protested. "He was there with mother when I left."
"I asked you to look out for him."
"And I left him with mother-they wanted me to help out here. Don't go looking at me."
Jim joined Frank. "Dam it, they've let him wander off. He might be any place. We'll just have to search."
One hour and hundreds of inquiries later they were convinced that, if the bouncer was in the school, he had found a very special hiding place. Jim was so annoyed that he had forgotten completely the essential danger that they were all in. "That's what comes of trusting women," he said bitterly. "Frank, what'U I do now?"
"Search me."
They were in the far end of me building from their former room. They started back toward it on the chance that Willis might have come back. As they were passing through the entrance hall, Jim stopped suddenly. "I heard him!"
They both listened. "Open up!" came a replica of Jim's voice. "Let Willis in!" The voice came through the door's announcing speaker.
Jim darted for the pressure lock, was stopped by the guard. "Hey," he protested, "open the lock. That's Willis." "More likely it's a trap. Stand back." "Let him in. That's Willis, I tell you." The guard ignored him, but threw the switch that caused the lock to cycle. He cleared everybody back out of range, then cautiously watched the door from one side, gun drawn.
The inner door opened and Willis waddled through.
Willis was bland about the whole thing. "Jim go away. Everybody go away. Willis go for walk."
"How did you get outdoors?"
"Went out."
"But how?" Willis apparently could see nothing difficult about that; he did not amplify.
"Maybe he went out when die Pottles did?" suggested Frank.
"Maybe. Well, I guess it doesn't matter."
"Go see people," Willis offered. He named off a string of native names, then added, "Pine time. Water friends. Give Willis good water, big drink." He made lipsmacking noises in imitation of Jim, although he had no lips himself.
"You had a drink just a week ago," Jim said accusingly.
"Willis good boy!" Willis countered.
"Wait a minute," said Frank. "He was with Martians."
"Huh? I don't care if he was with Cleopatra; he shouldn't run away."
"But don't you see? He can get to the natives; he already has. All we've got to do is to be sure he carries a message for them to pass on to Gekko."
The point, relayed to MacRae, increased his interest. The three composed a message in English for MacRae to translate. "Greetings," it began, "this is a message from Jim Marlowe, water friend of Gekko of the city of-" Here they inserted the unspellable and almost unpronounceable Martian name of Cynia. "Whoever you may be, friend of my friend, you are implored to send this word at once to Gekko. I am in great trouble and I need your help." The message went on to tell in detail the nature of the trouble, who was responsible, and what they hoped would be done about it. Telegraphic simplicity was not attempted, since Willis's nervous system could hold a thousand words as easily as ten.
MacRae translated it, then drilled Jim in reading it, after which they attempted to impress on Willis what he was to do. Willis was willing, but his consistently slap-happy, featherbrained approach to any problem exasperated them all almost to hysteria. At last it seemed fairly likely that he might carry out his assignment; at least (a) when asked what he was to do he would answer, "go see friends," and (b) when asked what he would tell them he would (usually) answer by reciting the message.