When they had eaten, they all felt better. The troops prowled about restlessly, but eventually began making themselves comfortable, using what was in their packs and whatever else they could find to bed down. Elliot pulled two of the single beds off to one side for Parsons and Rick Galloway. No one had eaten or slept for more than twenty-four hours, and soon most of the troops were sprawled onto beds and cots, or onto air mattresses on the floor.
The floor, Rick found, was uneven at the edges near the walls, but away from the walls it was artificially smooth and flat. It felt warm to the touch.
Rick sat with Parsons at a table near the TV set. They ate in silence. Finally Parsons said, "I see why you did not explain earlier."
"Yeah. Not that I could have," Rick said.
Parsons shrugged. "Five hours ago, I was prepared to be killed on that hilltop. Now I have eaten, I have a cup of wine and coffee to follow, and it is warm. No one is shooting me, and there is a comfortable bed. We have been lucky."
"Maybe."
"Have you thought of the implications of your television conversation?" Andrй asked. "A human. A human who asks interesting questions. Are we volunteers? How was Corporal Mason injured? Would we be alive if we had not boarded the alien ship? All asked by a human in a voice of authority, as if he had every right to the answers."
Rick nodded. "I thought of that. It means somebody cares what happens to us. Maybe not a lot, but somebody cares. I keep hoping that's a good sign."
"It cannot be a bad one," Andrй said.
"Dammit, you're calm enough-"
Parsons laughed. "I would have said the same of you. Rick, I am terrified, but it would do no good to let the men see that. Obviously you must feel the same way."
"Yeah. But I sure wish they'd let us know what they want with us."
"Perhaps nothing," Parsons said. He shrugged again in his expansive French manner. "Perhaps they rescued us for humanitarian reasons. Are we not worth it?" His smile was broad.
"Captain! Cap'n, that TV's going again. They want you."
Rick struggled to wakefulness. His watch showed that he had slept five hours. It seemed longer, and he felt far better rested than he would have expected from five hours' sleep.
A dozen men were crowded around the TV. They were trying to talk to the man-as near as Rick could tell, it was the same one who had spoken to him before-but they had no success. It was only when Rick stood in front of the set that the man responded.
"It is time to discuss your situation," the screen figure said. "You will not require weapons. Leave them all, and any other large metal objects, and enter the doorway which will open in the wall behind this screen."
As he spoke a steel plate set in the wall swung away. A rubberlike airtight door stood behind it. "Alone, please," the screen, said. "You will not be harmed."
"Maybe a couple of us ought to come anyway," Sergeant Elliot said.
"Thanks, Sarge, but I guess not," Rick said. "If they really want us dead, they'll let the air out of this compartment. And don't forget that. Elliot, for God's sake, don't let the troops do anything stupid while I'm gone."
"No, sir. But when will you be back?"
"I don't know."
"Cap'n, if you're not back in four hours, we can blow that door open-"
"No. Wake up Lieutenant Parsons and tell him he's in charge. I'll be back." Rick sounded a lot more confident than he felt as he went through the doorway. It closed behind him before the airtight in front of him dilated.
There was another corridor, and no one in sight. Rick followed that for a hundred meters until it bent sharply left, then led through two more rubberized pressure doors. He emerged in another cavern, one much smaller than the one he had left. It was well lighted, and there were at least a dozen of the TV screens of the kind he had seen in the ship and in the cavern.
There were both people and aliens in the cavern, perhaps a dozen of each. Several were studying the TV-like screens. An alien in grey coveralls, possibly the one who had spoken to him in the ship, came over to him.
The alien was six inches taller than Rick, but the extra height seemed to be all in the legs. The torso was not much longer than Rick's. The arms were longer than a human's, but not so much longer as were the legs. "There," the alien said. He indicated a door. "You would-do well-to be-careful-of what you say."
Rick nodded. "I understand." If this were the same alien, and Rick thought it was, it no longer spoke as easily and confidently as it had aboard the ship. Why? he wondered.
The door opened into an office. A desk faced the door. There were papers on the desk, along with two keyboards that Rick thought must connect to a computer. The desk held two of the flat TV screens, and there were other screens higher up. All were blank. The office had metallic square walls and floor and ceiling; a room built into the cavern. There was a rug on the floor which Rick thought was Persian; it had that pattern and look to it. There were other art objects that appeared to be from Earth: seascape paintings, a color photograph of the Golden Gate bridge, a Kalliroscope with its swirling shock-wave patterns.
The man he had seen on the TV screen sat behind the desk. The desk itself looked Danish modern and was probably from Earth. The man stood as Rick entered, but he did not offer to shake hands.
He was perhaps five feet ten, two inches shorter than Rick, and looked thoroughly human. He was a bit darker than Rick, face rounder, but he would not have attracted attention on any street in the United States or Europe. His expression was not unfriendly, but he looked harried, very busy and preoccupied.
The man spoke. It sounded to Rick more like the twittering of a bird than any human speech. "A parrot in a cageful of cats," Rick told Andrй Parsons later. The alien answered in the same language, and the human nodded.
"Excuse me, Captain," he said. "Please be seated." He indicated chairs, both of aluminum and plastic, one a normal-height chair, the other like a highchair for an adult. "Doubtless you have many questions."
Now there's an understatement, Rick thought. "Yes. Beginning with, who are you?"
The man nodded, tight-lipped, again his expression more of impatience and mild annoyance than anything else. "You would find my name hard to pronounce. Try 'Agzaral,' which is close enough not to offend me. I am-you do not have the occupation. Think of me as a police inspector. It is close enough for our purposes. And do be seated."
Rick took the normal chair. The alien went to the highchair. It fitted perfectly. "And my-rescuer?" Rick asked. It was difficult to know how to speak. There were no referents, and Rick had no idea of what would offend ejther the human or the alien. Obviously he should avoid terms like "this critter" or "stretchy here," but what could he call the creature?
"His name translates as 'Goldsmith,'" Agzaral said. "Many Shalnuksi names derive from ancient occupations. That seems a nearly universal cultural trait among industrializing peoples. If you prefer his own language, it is 'Karreeel.' "The last was said with a twitter that Rick couldn't possibly pronounce.
"Pleased to meet you," Rick said. "An expression that we don't always mean, but given the way we met, I certainly do. Only-"
"Only you would like to know why he made the effort," Agzaral said. "I listened to part of your conversation with the other officer." He switched to the twitter-and-snarl language again and spoke briefly.
"We have need of you," Karreeel said. His facial slits flared briefly. "We have need of human soldiers, and we went to great expense and difficulty to locate you."
"But why us?" Rick demanded.
"Because you would not be missed," Agzaral said. "And you could be taken aboard his ship without anyone seeing it. There are severe regulations against allowing the ships to be seen."