Baxter ignored my statement, and simply waited until Clatclit had moved back beside me, his taillight going on pyrotechnically as the moving granite cut us off from the light in the dungeon corridor. Then we were once again moving down that frozen-lava slope toward the deeply hidden lair of the Ancients. * * * * * As we moved along, side by side, with Baxter coming relentlessly after us, Clatclit's hands started working furiously. He flicked an index finger toward me, then toward himself. Then he put the heels of his hands together and, after a brief waggling of the fingertips, clamped his hands into fists, and made that serpentine forward jab with one hand. He was asking, in his pantomimic way, if he and I, under cover of sudden blinkout of his taillight, might scoot off into the labyrinth and escape Baxter. I held up a forefinger and waggled it left and right in a signal of "Better not, chum." He put his palms up, fingers flipping open in a mute "Why not?" I curled the fingers of my right hand into the palm, then pointed the index finger forward, and lifted my thumb up; an antique Earth gesture dating back to the times when hand guns had fanning hammers on them. I spun the muzzle of this simulated weapon up, down, and every which way, to indicate to Clatclit that Baxter might manage, through sheer blind blasting, to polish us off before we got very far. Clatclit slammed his right fist into his left palm in a furious symbol of an exasperated "Damn!" "What are you two plotting up there?" Baxter demanded suddenly. "We were discussing the futility of a lights-out scurry for cover, since that weapon of yours would slice right through these tunnels," I said, deciding the truth was the best way to avoid suspicious repercussions. "If your bolt didn't get us, the falling ceiling might." "I'm glad you're using your intelligence, Delvin," Baxter answered. Then: "Why are we stopping?" "Because," I said, halting where Clatclit had suddenly paused in his forward motion, "that thunder you hear is the reason the Ancients never find themselves neck-deep in the sugarfeet. An impassable river is up ahead." "Impassable?" Baxter scowled. "Not for us, but for Clatclit, here," I said. "He can't even go around this corner without risking deadly corrosion. And, in case you didn't notice back in your office, he's had a pretty nasty exposure already." "Nevertheless," said Baxter, "I must insist that he either accompany us, or be destroyed right here." "What!" I said, appalled. "You can't ask him to do that! He wouldn't last any longer than you would in boiling oil!" "I certainly do not intend to leave him here," Baxter snapped. "He might alert others of his kind, and--" "And what?" I growled. "You could fend off a million of them with that weapon of yours." "And risk the ceiling falling in on my head?" Baxter said. "No, Delvin, I'm not about to take that chance."