He held up a piece of ore, pointing and gesturing. The dwarf eyed it, bewildered, milky-blue eyes darting from Harris to Cantrell and back again. Cantrell pointed to the earth-- Instantly the little S'zetnur threw himself flat on the ground again, quivering. He began to sob, holding up one stumpy arm. "Oh, _hell_!" The spaceship's captain gave up, looking helplessly at his astrogator. "Harris? Can you--" Harris pulled the S'zetnur to his feet again; shoved him into the chair; explained with patient gestures about _digging_, about _the ore_, about _the ship_. The man's eyes, like glowing moonstones, followed his every motion eagerly, as a stupid child's might. He took the pebble in his hand obediently, went out to the ship, dug a small hole in the shadow of the great rocket, and buried the piece of ore. Then he looked up at Cantrell, towering over him in exasperation. Harris mopped his forehead. "I give up!" he laughed. "It's ... it's as though there was a _glass wall_ between us! We can see each other, and hear each other. But I can't make him _understand_. Damned if I understand him, either!" Rob Cantrell rubbed his jaw, caressing his stubble of blond beard. "If we only knew what's going on in that funny little head," he muttered. "What do they _want_? Everybody wants something. If we could just figure out what these S'zetnurs are after--besides centuries of decent diet, which they obviously need--we could--" He glared at the twisted little S'zetnur, decked with flowers that made his hideous deformity even more noticeable. The man cringed at his expression, covering his face and peeping through his short arms. Then, emboldened, catching one of the pilot's hands between his own stumps, he examined it admiringly, tracing each finger with his gaze. Cantrell scowled and jerked his hand away impatiently. The S'zetnur covered his face and threw himself flat on the ground. Cantrell cursed and mopped his streaming forehead and neck. "I don't get it," Harris said, scratching his head. "I just don't get it ... hey! Maybe if we take him out to that valley a mile from camp, we can put over the idea of his locating more sola for us. When he sees our men mining the stuff--" "Sound idea," Cantrell grunted. "Come on!" * * * * * Supporting the stumbling dwarf between them, the two Earthmen strode across the camp and down the long hill toward the distant sound of the pick-and-shovel crew. Two small a. g. barges sailed past them on their way down, loaded with ore and manned by a single sweat-streaked miner, headed for the nearest refinery. As they neared the valley, where last night the Geiger crew had located a rich streak of solaranium, the pilot and the astrogator noticed that their small captive was growing very nervous. Stumbling along between them as fast as his stumpy feet could walk, he glanced first at Harris, then at Cantrell, his expressive features working with agitation.