Idly, Barton wondered what to do next. Dr. Fox was off his back for a tune; probably she knew something was fishy, but it would take her a while to get her nerve up to doubt the computer results. He wasn't needed at the ship immediately; someone would have told him. He'd like to get the cast off his arm, lightweight or not, but the doctors had told him not to pester them again for at least another week. It wasn't limiting his activities; it itched, was all.

When in doubt, he decided, take a walk. Wd never been much for gratuitous exercise Before, but now he found he liked to walk when he had the time for it.

So he clothed himself and stepped outside. The day was

68.

hot and sunny, which was nothing new around here, but he liked it anyway.

His way took him past the quarters of the Demu and the Demu-ized. As he approached them, he wondered how and what little Whnee had been doing lately. At first he had looked in on her occasionally; she'd been pleased to see him, as near as he could tell. Then a cou- ple of times she hadn't been at home; she was being studied by a research team. A little perturbed, he'd checked with Tarleton and been assured that the small Demu would not be harmed. Then Barton had got busy with his own concerns and had had no time for much of anything else.

As he passed the guarded house he saw Whnee look- ing out a window. He was across the street, but he paused and walked over. The guard said, "Yes, sir?"

"I'm Barton. I see the little Demu is at home today."

"Yes, sir. It and the Freak; he's here all the time, though. The teams gave up on him." That would be Whosits. Well, Barton had given up on Wbosits a long time ago.

"How about the young one? They give up on her too?"

"Oh no, sir," the guard answered, "they're pretty happy about that one, the way I hear it. It's just their ;

day off today. Sunday, you know." Barton hadn't known.

His work and Tarleton's paid no heed to the weekly calendar, so neither had he.

"I think I'll stop in and see the kid a minute," Barton said. A thought came to him. "Hey, OK. if we go out for a little walk?"

"Just a moment, sir. I'll ask it." The guard turned and entered the house, leaving Barton a little puzzled.

Ask it?

A few minutes later, the guard escorted Whnee out- doors. No robe and hood now: Whnee was wearing a small sunhat, a light loose garment that covered the torso but left the limbs bare, and sandals. The lobster face looked incongruous, but on the whole Barton liked the effect. The standard Demu garb held bad con- notations for him, naturally enough.

"Hello, Whnee," he said.

"Hello, Barton. But my name is not Whnee. It is Eeshta,"

"You talk English!"

69.

Whnee*s-Eehta's-tongue lifted in the Demu smile.

"Yes, Barton. They have taught me- I wanted to leam.

1 wanted to talk with you. Now we can talk."

Barton looked at the small lobsteriike Demu in its ab- surd but pleasant Earth-type garb. Remembering. How its egg-parent had kept Barton as a caged animal for years. How be had broken this one's arm, slapped it into silence and later, unconsciousness. How he bad kid- napped both and brought them to Earth as prisoners. He had treated this small one with kindness or at least with tolerance during the voyage, yes. But still be wondered what he and Whnee, or Eeshta, had in common to dis- cuss. It might be interesting to find out.

"OK," he said. "Want to come for a little walk?" The guard nodded; as the oddly assorted pair turned away, Barton saw the man looking after them.

"I like your outfit," Barton said. "Kind of a change from the old one."

"Yes. That is out of place here, so I changed to this.

Dr. Ling chose it." Dr. Ling? Oh, yes; Barton remem- bered. Female doctor, Chinese ancestry, in charge of the team studying Demu biology.

"Well, it looks fine, Whnee-I mean, Eeshta."

The smile again. "Call me Wbnee if you like. Or Eeshta. Either is all right."

"Eeshta. I'll try to remember. Anyway, what-all else have you been learning?"

"Very much. Most important, that you are Demu."

"What?"

"That you are people. Demu is our only word for peo- ple. We are taught to believe that all others are animals."

"Yeh, I found that out the hard way. Not as hard as some others we know, of course."

"Barton, I am ashamed. For us, who call ourselves Demu. For what we do to others, treating them as ani- mals. Because they do not speak our words. And when they do, we make them like Siewen and Limila and the Freak. I am glad you did not let us do that to you, Bar- ton."

"You call him the Freak?"

"He is. He is one of you but pretends to be one of us.

He wears the old clothing. He will not speak his own language. It is our fault, of course. We have broken him."

"Hell; you didn't do it."

70.

"But if I had been older, I would have. I believed it was right, also."

"Well, we all do what we have to," Barton said. "I wasn't exactly gentle with you there at first, either. I can't see that I had much choice, but still I'm sorry you had to be hurt."

"So am I," Eeshta said. Barton looked at her sharply, but apparently it was a purely matter-of-fact comment "Barton, I was so frightened then! Attacked by a vicious animal, I thought. Injured and tied and beaten. Almost I died of fright"

Barton started to say something but thought better of it.

"I first had hope, Barton, when you let me drink. You could have not done that." Eeshta made a grimace Bar- ton hadn't seen before on a Demu. "I am glad I did not know your language then. If I had known you were say- ing you would eat me alive, I am sure I would have died of hearing it"

"Who-who told you about that?" Barton didn't, bother to deny it or say it had been a bluff. It had been, but this was no time to expect her to believe it.

"Siewen," she said, "or Limila. I don't remember now.

It is not important." She looked at him. "What is im- portant is that we made you do that. I am ashamed."

Barton had no answer. Hell, the kid was right, wasn't she? It? Nobody had told him the findings, if any, on the Demu, and he'd been too busy to think to ask. Well, it might make a good change of subject; the present one bothered him.

"Eeshta," he said, "what does it mean that you're Hishtoo's egg-child? I mean, is there some other kind of child, with you people?" She paused for a moment, stopped walking. Barton thought it might be time to turn back; they'd come quite a way.