More trucks were arriving, many of them with sirens blaring. Grandson Richard, 39, had been left standing by himself, watching his own shoulder nervously.
"Besides, we owe him something," said Masklin. "We used his satellite.
And we stole things."
"You said you wanted to do it your way. No help from humans, you said," said the Thing.
"It's different now. There is the Ship," said Masklin. "We've made it.
We're not begging anymore."
"May I point out that you're sitting on his shoulder, not him on yours," said the Thing.
"Never mind that," said Masklin. "Tell it-1 mean, ask him to walk toward the Ship. And say 'please.' And say that we don't want anyone to get hurt. Including me," he added.
Grandson Richard's reply seemed to take a long time. But he did start to walk toward the crowds around the Ship.
"What did he say?" said Masklin, hanging on tightly to the sweater.
"I don't believe it, " said the Thing.
"He doesn't believe me?"
"He said his grandfather always talked about the little people, but he never believed it until now. He said, Are you like the ones in the old Store?"
Masklin's mouth dropped open. Grandson Richard, 39, was watching him intently.
"Tell him yes," Masklin croaked.
"Very well. But I do not think it'll be a good idea."
The Thing boomed. Grandson Richard rumbled a reply.
"He says his grandfather made jokes about little people in the Store," said the Thing. "He used to say they brought him luck."
Masklin felt the horrible sensation in his stomach that meant the world was changing again, just when he thought he understood it.
"Did his grandfather ever see a nome?" he said.
"He says no. But he says that when his grandfather and his grandfather's brother were starting the Store, and stayed late every night to do the office work, they used to hear sounds in the walls and they used to tell each other there were little Store people. It was a sort of joke.
He says that when he was small, bis grandfather used to tell him about little people who came out at night to play with the toys."
"But the Store nomes never did things like that!" said Masklin.
"I didn 't say the stories were true."
The Ship was a lot closer now. There didn't seem to be any doors or windows anywhere. It was as featureless as an egg.
Masklin's mind was in turmoil. He'd always believed that humans were quite intelligent. After all, nomes were very intelligent. Rats were quite intelligent. And foxes were intelligent, more or less. There ought to be enough intelligence sloshing around in the world for humans to have some too. But this was something more than intelligence.
He remembered a book called Gulliver's Travels. It had been a big surprise to the nomes. There had never been an island of small people. He was certain of that. It was a-a-a made-up thing. There had been lots of books in the Store that were like that. They'd caused no end of problems for the nomes. For some reason, humans needed things that weren't true.
They never really thought nomes existed, he thought, but they wanted to believe that we did.
"Tell him," he said, "tell him I must get into the Ship."
Grandson Richard, 39, whispered. It was like listening to a gale.
"He says there are too many people."
"Why are all the humans around it?" said Masklin, bewildered. "Why aren't they frightened?"
Grandson Richard's reply was another gale.
"He says they think some creatures from another world will come out and talk to them."
"Why?"
"I don't know," said the Thing. "Perhaps they don Y want to be alone."
"But there's no one in it! It's our Ship-" Masklin began.
There was a wail. The crowd put their hands over their ears.
Lights appeared on the darkness of the Ship. They twinkled all over the hull in patterns that raced backward and forward and disappeared. There was another wail.
"There isn't anyone in it, is there?" said Masklin. "No nomes were left on it in hibernation or anything?"
High up on the Ship a square hole opened. There was a whiffling noise anda beam of red light shot out and set fire to a patch of scrub severalhundred yards away.
People started to run.
The Ship rose a few feet, wobbling alarmingly. It drifted sideways a little. Then it went straight up so fast that it was just a blur and jerked to a halt high over the crowd. And then it turned over. And then it went on its edge for a while.
It floated back down again and landed, more or less. That is, one side touched the ground and the other rested on the air, on nothing.
The Ship spoke, loudly.
To the humans it must have sounded like a high-pitched chattering.
What it actually said was: "Sorry! Sorry! Is this a microphone? Can't find the button that opens the door... . Let's try this one... ."
Another square hole opened. Brilliant blue light flooded out.
The voice boomed out across the country again.
"Got it!" There was the distorted thud-thud of someone not certain if their microphone was working, and tapping it experimentally. "Masklin, are you out there?"
"That's Angalo!" said Masklin. "No one else drives like that! Thing, tell Grandson Richard, 39, I must get on the Ship! Please!"
The human nodded.
Humans were milling around the base of the Ship. The doorway was too high up for them to reach.
With Masklin hanging on grimly, Grandson Richard, 39, pushed his waythrough the throng.
The ship wailed again.
"Er," came Angalo's hugely amplified voice, apparently talking tosomeone else, "I'm not sure about this switch, but maybe it's... .
Certainly I'm going to press it, why shouldn't I press it? It's next tothe door one, it must be safe. Look, shut up... ."
A silver ramp wound out of the doorway. It looked big enough for humans.
"See? See?" said Angalo's voice.
"Thing, can you speak to Angalo?" said Masklin. "Can you tell him I'mout here, trying to get to the Ship?"
'Wo. He appears to be randomly pressing buttons. It is to be hoped thathe does not press the wrong ones."
"I thought you could tell the Ship what to do!" said Masklin.
The Thing managed to sound shocked. "Not when a nome is in it," it said.
"I can't tell it not to do what a nome tells it to do. That's what beinga machine is all about."
Grandson Richard, 39, was shoving his way through the pushing, shoutingmass of humans, but it was hard going.
Masklin sighed.
"Ask Grandson Richard, 39, to put me down," he said. Then he added, "Andsay thank you. Say it ... it would have been nice to talk more."
The Thing did the translation.
Grandson Richard, 39, looked surprised. The Thing spoke again. Then hereached up a hand toward Masklin.
If he had to make a list of terrifying moments, Masklin would have putthis one at the top. He'd faced foxes, he'd helped to drive the Truck, he'd flown on a goose-but none of them were half so bad as letting ahuman being actually touch him. The huge whorled fingers uncurled andpassed on either side of his waist. He shut his eyes.
Angalo's booming voice said, "Masklin? Masklin? If anything bad'shappened to you, there's going to be trouble."
Grandson Richard's finger gripped Masklin lightly, as though the humanwas holding something very fragile. Masklin felt himself being slowlylowered toward the ground.
He opened his eyes. There was a forest of human legs around him.
He looked up into Grandson Richard's huge face, and trying to make hisvoice as deep and slow as possible, said the last word any nome said toany human:
"Good-bye."
Then he ran through the maze of feet.
Several humans with official-looking trousers and big boots were standing at the bottom of the ramp. Masklin scurried between them and ran on upward.