"Wow!" I said, catching dim sight of him in the weak glow of his water-pitted trylon. The sharp ruby glint was missing from his erstwhile pyramidic facets; now they looked dull crimson, and ropy, like taffy that has congealed after boiling over and dribbling down the side of the saucepan. "Does it hurt?" I asked, feeling partially responsible. Side-to-side motion. "It bothers you in some way, though, is that it?" Nod. "How?" I asked, unable to think of a yes-no question. Clatclit pointed to my wrist, shook his head, pointed to my wrist again, and gestured upward, then nodded. "Time. No ... other time. Uh ... Earth?" Headshake. He rose on tiptoe and pointed up again. "Beyond Earth. The sun!" Nod. "You mean that at this time, it doesn't bother you. But it will later, when you need the scales for absorbing sunlight?" A very weary nod. "Damn, that's rough. Will they grow back again?" Pause. Nod. Tiptoe point. Three taps on wrist. Shrug. "Yes. When the sun makes three times--In three days' time?" Nod. Wrist-tap. Hands clasped to belly. Disgusted shrug. "But in the meantime, you go hungry, sort of?" Nod. Then, the social amenities taken care of, Clatclit pointed to me, to the ground, and looked questioningly. "The Ancients have decided I'm to bump off Baxter," I said. "Then they'll release Snow and the boys. Not before." Clatclit stared at me a moment, placed a hand on my shoulder, and shook his head, like a sympathetic friend. Then he took his claws and made a tugging, struggling motion with them, as though trying to tear something which wouldn't give. He followed it up with an incongruously comic coin-flipping motion to the back of his hand. It was his devious way of expressing the slang phrase, "Tough luck." "You said it," I muttered. "Come on, though. The less time I leave Snow with the blob of black sparklers, the better. I've got to get to the spaceport." Clatclit nodded and began his lumbering waddle off into the labyrinth. The Ancients probably expected me to book passage on the next Earth flight, to assassinate Baxter. They didn't know he was sitting right in their laps, in the Security sector of the field. It was just as well. I didn't relish the possibility of my elimination if they knew he was right where a sugarfoot could blast him as well as anybody.