As far as I'm concerned, one Martian looks pretty much like another; but now I recognized this one. There was only one extraterrestrial in the little screwball health-cult with which I had become rather loosely acquainted in the past two weeks, and this was him.
I moved my feet and Zan Matl Blekeke sat down, exuding sunshine and clean living all over the place. We ordered drinks. He was elated as blazes about something, and I decided I might as well let him tell me about it—and knowing the typical Martian's haphazard use of the English language, I regarded the prospect as something of a challenge.
Zan Blekeke started right in telling me about it in his shrill, piping tones:
"Ah, Mr. Langston, wrong time go. Where been? Should have been meeting. I derelicted resident. Ha! Expected, yups?"
I replied, "Nups. Let's start over again. Something pretty damn important?"
He nodded.
"SRI meeting? Yesterday?"
He nodded again, smiling to beat hell.
I thought for a moment, then tried a shot in the dark, illogical as it was. "You lost your home? Derelicted resident?"
He looked like I'd stepped on his sore corn.