Jessup was still talking: "... and as a special twist, we named you Clark Dane, after a John Dane who stayed on at Sandoz, long after everyone else had left, trying to learn more about Kalquoi culture. Because he'd established some slight communication with them, I thought his name might help you...." Another piece of the puzzle, clicking into place. Another of Dane's questions answered. "... like every life-form, the Kalquoi needs periods of quiescence. The yat-stick provides a closed circuit where a Kalquoi can rest with no escape of energy. So, you were left by a yat-stick experts assured me contained a Kalquoi in repose. I knew your name would arouse the creature's interest. Tie that to your drive to reach Callisto, and the odds were good you'd live to activate the shaft. If you didn't"--a shrug--"it didn't matter too much, because you lacked any knowledge detrimental to us." Of a sudden, Dane was tired of words and explanations. He no longer cared about questions or their answers. Lurching to his feet, he stumbled past the Security chief, out of the arena. Jessup eyed him curiously. "Where are you going?" Dane continued his unsteady march. He didn't bother to answer. Thick-bodied Pfaff moved round to block him. "Hey, you! Mr. Jessup asked you a question!" Dane veered to pass him. Belligerent, bullet-head down, Pfaff thrust a foot between Dane's. Dane tripped and fell. Now Nelva Guthrie was running to him; kneeling beside him. Her fingers were cool upon his face. "Let him alone, can't you?" she cried fiercely. "Haven't you done enough to him, without more of this torture?" Jessup's smile faded just a little. "You've been a favorite of mine a long time, Nelva," he said in a too-quiet voice. "Don't jeopardize that status now." The girl stared up at him, face tear-streaked. "Do you think I care about status at a time like this?" "A dangerous question, my dear." The Security chief studied her for a long, long moment. "Now I find myself wondering if I can trust you further--and no matter how I phrase it, the answer comes back, 'No'." Dane felt Nelva's fingers stiffen on his cheek. A tremor ran through her. Abruptly, his desire to leave the arena ebbed. He sat up. "What happens when you get no for an answer, Jessup?" "_Mister_ Jessup, you chitza!" Pfaff snarled. But the hairless man himself only smiled faintly. "A wise man knows when not to talk, Dane," he observed. "For you, this is one of those times. You've done well. I like you. So human or not, I'll look after you so long as you behave." "And Nelva?" "She's no concern of yours, Dane. And as I said once, a wise man knows when not to talk." A pause. "I may not repeat that again." And from Nelva: "Please, Clark. Let it go." Dane eyed her soberly. "Why?" The panic flaring in her eyes was more than enough answer. To no one in particular Dane said, "Everything that can happen to me has already happened. That gives me leeway to take care of a few things."