He said, “Sorry. I—injured.”
“Oh, can’t bend them, huh? This is no job for you, pal.”
“Am stranger. Know not—what else.”
“Yeah, it’s tough.”
He returned to his work again, this time warmed by the other’s sympathy, and less uneasy about being observed. And as he worked, he thought sardonically of what they would think on his home planet if they knew.
He was sure that his enemies would have roared with laughter. Here was Kayin, the one they had feared for his brilliant mind, for his knowledge of science, for his practical skill. They had outwitted him—with the odds on their side, it was true—driven him a hunted creature past strange stars, and forced him to come to ground again in the guise of one of the meanest of a mean and unintelligent race. And even in the humble position to which he had been reduced, he could not hold up his end of the work.
He clenched his jaws grimly at the thought, and the very motion made him realize that in no way was he like the others, that even so simple a matter as the number and shape of his teeth might give him away. Unintelligent as they were, once they took the trouble to look with some care, they would know a creature who was not one of them.
On the second day of work he did arouse suspicion, but at first not from the other workers. The creature that bared its teeth and barked at him was a dog. For a time Kayin found the animal’s attention embarrassing. He threw a stone at the beast, but it ran only a short distance, and stopped to bark again. He had an idea of what the trouble was. That day he had replaced his worn trousers by a new and baggy pair of overalls, not yet saturated with the scent of human beings, and the dog had noticed his own faint but strange odor. Now it was making a nuisance of itself, and drawing everyone’s attention to him.
“That mutt don’t like you, Mac,” said a foreman who passed by.
“Funny about dogs, the way they bark at some people,” someone laughed.