"He'll be interested," Scat told the pretty, efficient-looking girl. "Tell him I want to beam a story about how he's begun to install at Ten Mile the most up-to-date and humane Martian-protective devices of any mine in the world."
A brief wait.
"Mr. Kemmerdygn has no comment. Good day."
Click-Click came in. He extended his pinchers for Scat's inspection. "My new manicure," he explained. "I've been forging the pincher-ridge patterns of one of those Martians we're keeping for the Underground. That's the only identification that means anything to a human. Get the idea?"
Scat frowned. "Too risky. You might get into Ten Mile, but I don't think you'd get out; we need you here."
"They need me more. Out there in their holes, while I can hop into a vacuum tank every night...." Suddenly Click-Click's pinchers stiffened. "Len's outside," he coded tersely. "I think he wants you; looks like they've brought a finder."
"Finder!" Scat shot up. "Got the cans ready?"
"Yes. Shall we put them in?"
"Not yet. But be ready."
He hurried out. There was a utility car with the Kemmerdygn insignia parked in front. Two scowling bug guards were arguing with Len. Their hands were suggestively near their squirt guns. One of them had a dirty-smocked girl by the wrist. She had a silly, open mouthed grin that just seemed to stay there; she drooled.