“Get to the point, Baneen-og,” rumbled Lugh. “You’re reaching an end to the tether of my patience.”

“There’s no more than a word to be said,” Baneen answered quickly. “Here we are marooned these thousands of years on this watery planet where the best of gremlin magic can lift us no more than a dozen feet into the air. And over there—” Baneen pointed in the direction of LC-39, “—is a fine big rocket about to go all the way to Mars, next door to Gremla so it is, and here is a boy whose father’s work is all with that very rocket—”

A bellow from Lugh stopped him. The large gremlin had glanced at Rolf when he was mentioned by Baneen, and—too late—Rolf had realized that he was lying there propped up on his elbows, his eyes wide open.

“BY THE GREAT CAIRNGORM OF GREMLA ITSELF!” Lugh roared, striding wrathfully toward Rolf and seeming to grow more gigantic with each step. “You’ve sprinkled the lad over with Gremla-dust, Baneen—and that with no permission from anyone, least of all myself! He’s been lying here with his eyes open all this time, seeing and hearing and understanding every word ourselves and the dog have spoken!”

3

“Lugh!” yelped Baneen. “You overgrown, great—”

Lugh spun around to face the smaller gremlin, and Baneen’s tone changed abruptly, sweetly, “—man of wisdom that you are, now. Surely yourself has figured out that the lad must be able to talk with us and see us, if he’s to be the means of aiding our poor friend O’Rigami in his and our time of need.”

Lugh, who looked as if he had just been about to leap at Baneen, settled back, frowning, and stroked his chin whiskers.