A shudder of ecstasy stiffened him. His head and eyes rolled with it, and he wafted closer still. Right there I began to harbor a premonition that there might be such a thing as being too popular in Scorpdom, but I thrust this sneak-thief idea back into limbo.
Taking advantage of his condition, I boldly tapped out, "How's about taking me on a guided tour through this red spinach patch to Akroida, old pal?" Or words to that effect.
He lolled his hideous cranium practically on my shoulder. "Anything! Just anything you desire, my dearest friend."
I tried to back off from him a bit, but the ship stopped me. "I'm Casey Ritter. What's your label, chum?"
"Attaboy," he ticked coyly.
"Attaboy?" Things blurred around me. It couldn't be. It was just plain nuts. Then I got a glimmer through my paralyzed gray matter. "Who named you that?"
He simpered. "My dear friend, Pard Hoskins."
I breathed again. How simple could I get? He'd already mistaken me for Pard, hadn't he? Then I remembered something else. "How come you aren't mad at him? Don't you hate yellow, too?"
He hung his silly head. "I fear I am colorblind," he confessed sadly.
Right there I forgave him for pulling that eye on me. He was the guide I needed, the one who had got Pard out alive. I almost hugged him. "Lead off, old pal," I sang out, and then had to tap it. "I'll follow in my boat."