La Crue shook his head slowly. "Wish all neurotics in the Undergrounds
were as rational as old Kewpie Doll. We're having lots of psycho
troubles down here in our Underground."
Jhongan let his heavy torso sink down between his four legs so that
he now resembled a huge crab, while La Crue went on. He could wait.
He was patient. He only hoped they would accept it when he presented
the seemingly insane plan. La Crue explained, "Too much pressure down
here. It's too unnatural an environment. No real hope either, so far,
to relieve it. The complete abnormality of never getting a glimpse
of the green hills of Earth, you know. They're developing what I
call subterranean psychosis. A strange combination of claustro- and
taphobia."
The psycho-medic looked pointedly at Jhongan. "And we've even had
several outbreaks of planetary prejudice. Jhongan here looks just like
any other Martie to an unintegrated mind. He's been physically attacked
several times and almost killed since coming here from Mars a week ago.
Special Underground passenger lines have been set up."
Venard stood up, stretched. "Trivia," he said finally. "That's what is
driving all the Underground dwellers mad. False hope. Why not preach
resignation?"
"After that speech you gave which stirred those people to sing the
Terran Anthem, that is an obviously unrealistic statement on your
part," said La Crue.
"We do have a chance," said Jhongan. "More than just a chance. I'll
explain whenever you two pedantics get ready to listen."
"Where there's life, there's hope, eh?" said Venard sardonically. "That
could also apply to a paramecium."
"There's more to this hope than you can ever guess," said Jhongan.
"Listen, old friend. The rumor's true."