Jhongan said, "Not even a Solar War could change that guy."
La Crue shook his head slowly. "Wish all neurotics in the Undergrounds were as rational as old Kewpie Doll. We're having lots of psycho troubles down here in our Underground."
Jhongan let his heavy torso sink down between his four legs so that he now resembled a huge crab, while La Crue went on. He could wait. He was patient. He only hoped they would accept it when he presented the seemingly insane plan. La Crue explained, "Too much pressure down here. It's too unnatural an environment. No real hope either, so far, to relieve it. The complete abnormality of never getting a glimpse of the green hills of Earth, you know. They're developing what I call subterranean psychosis. A strange combination of claustro- and taphobia."
The psycho-medic looked pointedly at Jhongan. "And we've even had several outbreaks of planetary prejudice. Jhongan here looks just like any other Martie to an unintegrated mind. He's been physically attacked several times and almost killed since coming here from Mars a week ago. Special Underground passenger lines have been set up."
Venard stood up, stretched. "Trivia," he said finally. "That's what is driving all the Underground dwellers mad. False hope. Why not preach resignation?"
"After that speech you gave which stirred those people to sing the Terran Anthem, that is an obviously unrealistic statement on your part," said La Crue.
"We do have a chance," said Jhongan. "More than just a chance. I'll explain whenever you two pedantics get ready to listen."
"Where there's life, there's hope, eh?" said Venard sardonically. "That could also apply to a paramecium."
"There's more to this hope than you can ever guess," said Jhongan. "Listen, old friend. The rumor's true."
Venard stared, sagged. "You mean about Zharkon?"