“I’ll settle for not being starved to death,” said Phule. “Whoever’s captured us doesn’t necessarily know what we like to eat-or how often. We could be in a real pickle.”
“Sir, I should consider our present situation to be a `real pickle,’ as far as I understand the term,” said Beeker. “It is not too early to begin thinking of escape.”
“Yeah, we’ve got to look into that,” said Phule. “But we’re not going to rush into it. We’ve got a golden opportunity to find out who these Hidden Ones are-or whatever they call themselves. It’s a good thing we have a couple of translators in the jeep; at least, when they do show up, we’ll be able to communicate with them.”
“A very debatable assumption, sir,” said Beeker. “Why, I find some of your legionnaires all but incomprehensible, despite our nominal possession of a common tongue. But above and beyond that question, we cannot take it for granted that our captors will allow us to retrieve our equipment from the hovercar.”
“Hmmm…that would complicate things,” said Phule. “How are you at sign language?”
“Quite competent within a very narrow range, sir,” said Beeker. “I am certain that I can communicate hostility and frustration with no risk of misunderstanding. More complex matters might exceed my abilities.”
Phule nodded. “Well, I might not be able to do much better. But between the two of us, we’ll have to figure out how to convince them to let us get hold of those translators. Once I can actually talk to them-“
“Sir!” said Beeker, in an urgent whisper. “Something’s happening.”