Onin stared at him stupidly. He answered nothing but commands. Jay swore, a habit acquired from the dark-haired human, and twisted open the battery case of the animat. He wrenched out the batteries and sent them hurtling into a nearby thicket of nik-nik.
"Ina Haan says we have good brains," he told Onin, "if we do not have them deadened by the control cases."
Onin was sniffing at the warm thickness of the Venusian air, his slowly awakening eyes studying the ten-foot circle of mossy grass and brush visible. His shoulders were straightening and his movements were steadier.
"She says it is peculiar that I know so many words and am so familiar with cities and machinery she mentions. It is as though that knowledge was placed in our brains when we were created."
Onin grunted something and started off into the nik-nik brush away from the invisible spacer. Jay followed, his hand on the crude metal club that Ina permitted him to carry.
"The ship's back this way." Jay touched Onin's shoulder. "And you forgot your bundle of roots and fruit."
Onin stopped and faced Jay defiantly. Something trembled on his lips and then he frowned, shaking his bony skull. He clawed at the strap, riveted securely under his chin.
"Off," he gurgled. "Take it off."
"And have your head blown off too? Not much. To protect the controls from tampering the technicians have planted explosives in the helmet. It's suicide."
Onin's fingers dropped away, his eyes thoughtful. When he spoke again his rusty uncertain voice was steadier.