Murgatroyd poked his head out of Calhoun's jacket. He regarded these roughly dressed men with suspicion.
"What's that?" asked one of the five.
"A pet," said Calhoun briefly.
The statement went unchallenged. A man got up, lifting a small tank with a hose. There was a hissing sound. The spray made a fine, foglike mist. Calhoun smelled a conventional organic solvent, well-known enough.
"This's antiseptic," said the man with the spray. "In case you got some disease inside there."
The statement was plainly standard, and once it had been exquisite irony. But it had been repeated until it had no meaning any more, except to Calhoun. His clothing glittered momentarily where the spray stood on its fibres. Then it dried. There was the faintest possible residue, like a coating of impalpable dust. Calhoun guessed its significance and the knowledge was intolerable. But he said between clenched fists.
"Where do I go now?"
"Anywheres," said the first man. "Nobody'll bother you. Some normals try to keep you from getting near'em, but you can do as you please." He added disinterestedly. "To them, too. No police out here!"
He went back to the bench and sat down. Calhoun moved on.