Free In Deep by Damon Knight Page A

opening; get ready, here they come.”
    Alvarez couldn’t see past Carver’s bulk; he tried to get away, but Nasalroad stopped him. “I want to see ,” he said irritably.
    “Listen,” Nasalroad said. “I know what you did. I checked the Bets-off and those cultures against inventory. The gorgon seems to be recovering nicely, no thanks to you. Now has the stuff worn off you, or not? Because if not—”
    A rustle went over the group. Alvarez and Nasalroad turned in time to see the door opening. Two large, vigorous-looking gorgons waddled through; they were carrying an enameled metal box between them. “ Foop! ” said the first one, experimentally. “Where is gorgon George?”
    “I’m all right,” Alvarez muttered. “If I wasn’t, I’d have done something uncivilised to you by now, wouldn’t I?”
    “I guess so,” said Nasalroad. They elbowed closer as the group shifted, making a space around the three gorgons. Peering, on tiptoe, Alvarez could see George standing shakily beside the other two. “He looks terrible. Those are big ones, those other two, aren’t they?”
    “Not as big as George was when we got him,” Nasalroad muttered. “Listen, Walt, if it turns out you’ve ruined the whole thing, I’ll take a dose of Bets-off myself, and—”
    “Listen!” snarled Alvarez. One of the gorgons was explaining. “This is panga box. What you call? You know panga?”
    “Well, uh, yes and no,” said Dominick uncomfortably. “But what about the punishment? We understood—”
    “Punishment later. You George, go in box.”
    Obediently, George waddled over and squatted beside the mouth of the box. He bobbed uncertainly; he looked for all the world like a large woman trying to get into a small sports copter. There was a minor outbreak of nervous laughter, quickly suppressed.
    George leaned, retracting most of his upper appendages. His round body began to be composed into a squarish shape, wedging itself into the box.
    The other gorgons watched with an air of tension, photoceptors rigidly extended. A hush fell. Among the humans present there was a general air of Why-are-we-all-whispering?
    George wriggled and oozed farther into the box. Momentarily he stuck. He flicked blue, then pink. His “feet,” almost retracted, scrabbled feebly at the bottom of the box. Then he was in.
    One of the other gorgons solemnly closed the lid on him and fastened it to make sure, then opened it again and helped him out. All three gorgons began to make rhythmic swaying motions with their “arms” and other appendages. George, Alvarez thought, looked smug. He felt a sudden premonitory pang. What had he done?
    “What’s it all about?” Nasalroad demanded. “Are they measuring him for a coffin, or—”
    Dominick, overhearing, turned and said, “I don’t think so. Now this is interesting. You remember they said a panga box. What I’m afraid of is, they may have a standard of size. You see what I mean, they’re measuring George to see if he falls below the minimum standard of, uh, panga relations.”
    “Oh, heavens,” said another voice. It was Urban of Semantics, who had been neglected of late; they hadn’t needed him since George learned English. He was peering over Dominick’s shoulder, looking dumbfounded. He said, “But don’t you know the word we’ve been translating ‘elders’ really means ‘smallest ones’? Good heavens—”
    “I don’t see—” Dominick began, but the Commandant’s voice drowned him out. “Quiet! Quiet please!” Carver was trumpeting. He went on, “Our friends from Seven have an announcement to make. Now, then.”
    To everyone’s surprise, it was George who spoke, in the lisping accents of the gorgon language. No human present understood a word of it except Urban, who turned pale under his tan and began stammering inaudibly to himself.
    One of the larger gorgons began to speak when George stopped. “Most elder person, known to you by name George, wishes me to thank you all for