"Back at that bar, you blasted the other men, then left without me.
Why?"
Clatclit pointed to himself, then to his cranium, then to me, then made
a palms-down hand-spreading gesture.
"You ... thought ... I ... negation--You thought I'd been blasted, too!
Except that I'd flattened out behind that wall, and you couldn't see me
behind the remaining bottom section. You originally meant to get me out
of there alive?"
Nods, vigorous.
"And you thought you'd goofed with the collapser, and gotten me, too!"
Nods.
"So what happened in the street? How'd you happen to stick around?"
The talon went to his earhole, then he spread his hands wide, in a
gesture of "many-ness," and waited hopefully.
"You heard a lot of--what? Oh! You heard those men coming up the
street, and stuck around to see what was up. But I didn't hear them,
and I was closer. In fact, they were sneaking after me."
Clatclit pointed to his ears and nodded, then indicated mine and shook
his head.
I got it then. Supersensitivity. It made sense. Just as man's ears,
accustomed to use in air, are even more receptive to sounds in a
denser medium, as, for instance, underwater, where sound waves are
more powerful; so the sugarfeet's ears, built for use in the rarefied
Martian atmosphere, could hear all the better in the heavier air of
Marsport.
"Okay, so you heard them, saw me, and came to the rescue. Fine. Now,
the big question: Why? What is so special about me, Clatclit?"
He stood up and made the same strange gesture he'd made the night on
Von Braun Street. Alternate pointing to his head, then to me.
The "me" part was easy enough, but the other.... I tried a series of
likely meanings.
"That motion to your head, Clatclit. You mean I'm the head of
something, the investigation, for instance?"
Negative.
"I'm intelligent?"
A pause, then the yes-no motion.
"You mean I am, but that's the wrong answer. Hmmm. Very tactful of you,
Clatclit. You could have given me a no on that one."
Clatclit showed a friendly array of deadly-looking teeth. I interpreted
this as an evidence of camaraderie, so I just grinned back.
"Okay, Clatclit. Let's see. It has nothing to do with my brain power?"
A wild light came into his eyes, and he seemed ready to crack out of
his glittering pelt, so agitated did he become. Apparently, I'd hit on
something, but he didn't know what sort of signal to make.
"I'm getting warm?" I said.
Clatclit stared, and I realized that, even knowing and understanding
colloquial English, he might still have missed a few of the slangier
expressions.
"That is," I said, "I'm close to the answer?"
Nod.
"Something to do with brain power?"
Vigorous nod.
"Mine?"
Negative.
"Baxter's?"
Negative.
"Anyone's?"
I got the yes-no and a climactic shrug. Clatclit was apparently stuck
for a response.
I tried to figure it out. Brain power, but not mine, not really
anyone's, and yet, in a way, someone's. Then I jumped up and faced him,
elated.
"The Brain! The composite brain of International Cybernetics!"
Clatclit emitted something that sounded very much like a sigh of
relief, and nodded.
I thought back to his head-then-me gesture. "Then you mean I was
rescued because I was the man chosen by the Brain?"
Three brisk nods.
Now I was really confused. I shook my head at Clatclit, and said, "I
give up, friend. I'm out of questions you can answer."
He gave me a curious look, an expectant look.
"The only question I can think of is 'Why should Mars be interested in
me just because I was selected by the Brain back on Earth?' And that's
a tough one to do in pantomime."
Clatclit rose up proudly on tiptoe, as if stubbornly denying the slur
I'd cast on his miming abilities. He looked hurt, and I felt like a
crumb.
"Okay, friend. Try. But I don't guarantee I'll get it."
Clatclit stood a moment in thought, then pointed upward.
"Up? Out? Above?" I said. All received negatives. "It's no use,
Clatclit, I can't--Oh, all right, once more. Uh ... away up?"
Nod.
"Earth?" I said, excitedly.
Nod.
"Well, what about it?" I said.
Clatclit pointed up to Earth, then to me, and shook his head. Then he
pointed down, to Mars, I guessed by association, and to me again. This
time he nodded.
"Earth-me-no. Mars-me-yes," I said mechanically. "Earth-no-_what_?"
Talon to head.
"Earth-me-no brain?" I choked out. "The Brain did not select me?"
Side-to-side motion.
"Not exactly? Well, then--No, that's crazy!"
Clatclit looked a question.
I laughed wearily and sank back onto the cot. "All I get, chum, is the
ridiculous impression that Mars was behind the Brain's selecting me
back on Earth--"