"But if we take the Ship away, what will they have if they need it?"
Masklin had just asked the same question.
The Thing said, "01001101010101110101010010110101110010."
"What did you say?"
The Thing sounded tetchy. "If I lose concentration, there might not be a Ship for anyone, " it said. "I am sending fifteen thousand instructions per second."
Masklin said nothing.
"That's a lot of instructions, " the Thing added.
"By rights the Ship must belong to all the nomes in the world," said Masklin.
"010011001010010010-"
"Oh, shut up and tell me when the Ship is going to get here."
"0101011001 ... Which do you want me to do? ... 01001100 ..."
"What?"
"I can shut up or I can tell you when the Ship is going to arrive. I can't do both."
"Please tell me when the Ship is going to arrive," said Masklin patiently, "and then shut up."
"Four minutes."
"Four minutes!"
"I could be three seconds off," said the Thing. "But I calculate it as four minutes. Only now it's three minutes thirty-eight seconds. It'll be three minutes and thirty-seven seconds any second now-"
"I can't hang around in here if it's coming that soon!" said Masklin, all thoughts of his duty to the nomes of the world temporarily forgotten.
"How can I get out? This thing's got a lid on."
"Do you want me to shut up first, or get you out and then shut up?" said the Thing.
"Please!"
"Have the humans seen you move?" said the Thing.
"What do you mean?"
"Do they know bow fast you can run?"
"I don't know," said Masklin. "I suppose not."
"Get ready to run, then. But first, put your hands over your ears."
Masklin thought it would be best to obey. The Thing could be deliberately infuriating at times, but it didn't pay to ignore its advice.
Lights on the Thing made a brief star-shaped pattern.
It started to wail. The sound went up and then went beyond Masklin's hearing. He could feel it even with his hands over his ears; it seemed to be making unpleasant bubbles in his head.
He opened his mouth to shout at the Thing, and the walls exploded. One moment there was glass, and the next there were bits of glass, drifting out like a jigsaw puzzle where every piece had suddenly decided it wanted some personal space. The lid slid down, almost hitting him.
"Now, pick me up and run," ordered the Thing, before the shards had spilled across the table.
Humans around the room were turning to look in that slow, clumsy way humans had.
Masklin grabbed the Thing and took off across the polished surface.
"Down," he said. "We're high up, how do we get down?" He looked around desperately. There was some sort of machine at the other end of the table, covered with little dials and lights. He'd watched one of the humans using it.
"Wires," he said, "There's always wires!"
He skidded around, dodged easily around a giant hand as it tried to grab him, and hared along the table.
"I'll have to throw you over," he panted. "I can't carry you down!"
'Til be all right."
Masklin slid to a stop by the table edge and threw the Thing down. There were wires running down toward the floor. He leapt for one, swung around madly, and then half fell and half slid down it.
Humans were lurching toward him from everywhere. He picked up the Thing again, hugging it to his chest, and darted forward. There was a foot
-brown shoe, dark blue sock. He zigged. There were two more feet-black shoes, black socks. And they were about to trip over the first foot.
He zagged.
There were more feet, and hands reaching vainly down. Masklin was a blur, dodging and weaving between feet that could flatten him. And then there was nothing but open floor. Somewhere an alarm sounded, its shrill note sounding deep and awesome to Masklin. "Head for the door," suggested the Thing. "But more humans'll be coming in," hissed Masklin.
"That's good, because we're going out." Masklin reached the door just as it opened. A gap of a few inches appeared, with more feet behind it.
There wasn't any time to think. Masklin ran over the shoe, jumped down on the other side, and ran on.
"Where now? Where now?"
"Outside."
"Which way is that?"
"Every way."
"Thank you very much!"
Doors were opening all along the corridor. Humans were coming out. The problem was not evading capture-it would take a very alert human even to see a nome running at full speed, let alone catch one-but simply avoiding being trodden on by accident.
"Why don't they have mouse holes? Every building should have mouse holes!" Masklin moaned.
A boot stamped down an inch away. He jumped.
The corridor was filling with humans. Another alarm started to sound.
"Why's all this happening? I can't be causing all this! There can't be all this trouble over just one nome!"
"It's the Ship. They have seen the Ship." A shoe almost awarded Masklin the prize for the most perfectly flattened nome in Florida. As it was, he almost ran into it. Unlike most shoes, it had a name on it. It was a Crucial Street Drifter with Real Rubber Soul, Pat'd. The sock above itlooked as though it could be a Hi-style Odorprufe, made of Guaranteed 85%
Polyputheketlon, the most expensive sock in the world.
Masklin looked farther up. Beyond the great sweep of blue trouser and thedistant clouds of sweater was a beard.
It was Grandson Richard, 39.
Just when you thought there was no one watching over nomes, theuniverse went and tried to prove you wrong.
Masklin took a standing jump and landed on the trouser leg, just as thefoot moved. It was the safest place. Humans didn't often tread on otherhumans.
The foot took a step and came down again. Masklin swung backward andforward, trying to pull himself up the rough cloth. There was a seam aninch away. He managed to grab it; the stitches gave a better handhold.
Grandson Richard, 39, was in a crush of people all heading the same way.
Several other humans banged into him, almost jarring Masklin loose. Hekicked his boots off and tried to grip with his toes.
There was a slow thumping as Grandson Richard's feet hit the ground.
Masklin reached a pocket, got a decent foothold, and climbed on. A bulkylabel helped him up to the belt. Masklin was used to labels in the Store, but this was pretty big even by big label standards. It was covered inlettering and had been riveted to the trousers, as if Grandson Richard,
39, were some sort of machine.
" 'Grossbergers Hagglers, the First Name in Jeans,'" he read. "Andthere's lots of stuff about how good they are, and pictures of cows andthings. Why d'you think he wants labels all over himself?"
"Perhaps if he hasn't got labels, be doesn 't know what his clothes are,
" said the Thing.
"Good point. He'd probably put his shoes on his head."
Masklin glanced back at the label as he grabbed the sweater.
"It says here that these jeans won a Gold Medal in the Chicago Exhibitionin 1910," he said. "They've certainly lasted well."
Humans were streaming out of the building.
The sweater was much easier to climb. Masklin hauled himself up quickly.
Grandson Richard, 39, had quite long hair, which also helped when it wastime to climb up onto the shoulder.
A doorframe passed briefly overhead, and then the deep blue of the sky.
"How long, Thing?" Masklin asked. Grandson Richard's ear was only a few inches away.
"Forty-three seconds."
The humans spilled out of the wide concrete space in front of the building. Some more hurried out of the building, carrying machinery. They kept running into one another because they were all staring at the sky.
Another group was clustered around one human who was looking very worried.
"What's going on, Thing?" Masklin whispered.
"The human in the middle of the group is the most important one here. It came to watch the shuttle launch. Now all the others are telling it that it's got to be the one to welcome the Ship."