Hansen scratched his two-day beard. Tlurg had caught him flatfooted, coming home to this rented farmhouse from a night of Harpupon hunting. For days he’d searched, but the Harpupon hunt had been feeling more and more like a Snipe hunt. He’d found every sign that Harpupons were out there, every sign but a Harpupon itself.
Then, adding insult to injury, Tlurg himself walks in six hours later, gloating.
“You were looking for one of these, maybe?” His lackeys roll in this potato-bug lump, and leave laughing.
“Well, hell. You’d probably do the same for me. What have we got in common except we’re both stuck here?” grumbled Hansen.
“Good point. But we are stuck here. So what next?”
“Well, let’s examine what we’ve got to work with: you’re telepathic and pathetic … I mean slow. You aren’t a tool user.”
“What’s a tool?”
“It’s what I wish I had right now.”
The Harpupon listened to his thoughts. “What a strange concept. I don’t understand it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“You would use a physical device to get this door open?”
“That’s right: a key, a crowbar, some plastic explosive, any number of things would do.”
“And a guard has one of these … tools?”
“Someone out there does.”
“You’re not just twiddling my antenna, are you?”
Hansen looked down at the Harpupon, then jumped up! It was shiny and quite round now—basically white with large, bright polka dots all over.
“Christ, you are a beachball!”
“Your advice was that it was a more appropriate disguise.”
Hansen felt a thrill, a surge of interest in living.
“Wait,” he said buoyantly, “wait, that’s a great idea! I’m going to give you to a guard. He’ll take you out of here. You can get the key, open the door, and out we both will go!”
“What’s that?”
“You get the key, and open the door.”
“You missed me on that. Is this one of your higher concepts: Manipulating objects?”
“Christ!” Hansen paced the room. “It felt like such a damn good idea. It still does.”
“Will it work?”
“Hell no. The Xobons’ll probably just vivisect you to see what makes you tick. But that makes no difference, it’s a mere detail.” The euphoria started dropping immediately. Hansen shook his head.
“Were you twiddling my mind?”
“I could see you weren’t going to think of anything in your previous state. I gave you a boost … I think I overdid it.”
Hansen sighed, “Well, that was my idea. How would you get out of here, Dot Head?”
“Well, I’d just wait for them to open the door and leave.”
“They’ll do that?”
“Someday. I’m suggesting they do that.”
“And pigs’ll fly someday too. I can’t wait.” Hansen sighed again, “I don’t think you can either. Tlurg won’t fall for it. He knows he’s onto something hot.”
Hansen thought some more.
“Wait! How about something a bit quicker. How tough are you?”
“Tough?”
“What would happen if I bounced you?”
“I would survive.”
“What if I bounced you off of our guard’s skull?”
Hansen was pacing the cell rapidly as he thought.
“Look, I’ll make like I’m dying. You convince the guard he should open the door and come in to investigate. I’ll brain him with you, and we’ll both be out of here!”
“How bizarre! Do you think like this often?”
“Every time I’m locked in a cell with a beachball,” snorted Hansen. For the umpteenth time he stared at a crack in the wall, and picked at it a little.