"The girl is studying maps of the K'Yarthan Swamp," he announced. "Jeffers and Rikert are at the controls. I think they will bear watching, those two."
Curt nodded. He studied Kueelo. The little Martian was over his anger, but now he seemed strangely perturbed.
"I've been waiting to speak to you alone, Curt Emmons. Remember, Jeffers couldn't understand why you brought me along? I've wondered the same thing. From the very first. There were many others to choose for the escape, strong ones like Rikert."
"You made it, didn't you?" Curt snapped. "Before this is over, you may wish you were back at the Prison mines."
"That doesn't answer my question. Why did you select me?"
Curt hesitated. "All right. If you must know, I always had a feeling you didn't belong at the Prison. Sure, I knew you were a 'political.' But no ordinary one! And I don't think your name is Kueelo!"
He watched the other's face, saw emotion ripple across the chiselled features.
"So," the Martian said softly. "I thought you might have guessed. Was it the tune, the little aria I always sang? Many times I could feel you listening. I sensed that you knew ... but I could not keep it within me, Emmons!"
"Doesn't that aria occur somewhere in the Deimian Cabal?"
"So you know that! But for you—for any Earthman—"