«What's the idea of these orders about “Absolutely No Women”? Is he a sex maniac?»

«All I know is they brought him in from the Champion and said he was to have absolute quiet.»

«“The Champion!»” the first marine said. «That accounts for it.»

«Accounts for what?»

«It stands to reason. He ain't had any, he ain't seen any, he ain't touched any — for months. And he's sick, see? If he was to lay hands on any, they're afraid he'd kill hisself.» He blinked. «I'll bet I would.»

Smith had been aware of the doctors but had grokked that their intentions were benign; it was not necessary for the major part of him to be jerked back.

At the morning hour when human nurses slap patients' faces with cold, wet cloths Smith returned. He speeded up his heart, increased his respiration, and took note of his surroundings, viewing them with serenity. He looked the room over, noting with praise all details. He was seeing it for the first time, as he had been incapable of enfolding it when he had been brought there. This room was not commonplace to him; there was nothing like it on all Mars, nor did it resemble the wedge-shaped, metal compartments of the Champion. Having relived the events linking his nest to this place, he was now prepared to accept it, commend it, and in some degree to cherish it.

He became aware of another living creature. A granddaddy longlegs was making a journey down from the ceiling, spinning as it went. Smith watched with delight and wondered if it were a nestling man.

Doctor Archer Frame, the interne who had relieved Thaddeus, walked in at that moment. «Good morning,» he said. «How do you feel?»

Smith examined the question. The first phrase he recognized as a formal sound, requiring no answer. The second was listed in his mind with several translations. If Doctor Nelson used it, it meant one thing; if Captain van Tromp used it, it was a formal sound.

He felt that dismay which so often overtook him in trying to communicate with these creatures. But he forced his body to remain calm and risked an answer. «Feel good.»

«Good!» the creature echoed. «Doctor Nelson will be along in a minute. Feel like breakfast?»

All symbols were in Smith's vocabulary but he had trouble believing that he had heard rightly. He knew that he was food, but he did not «feel like» food. Nor had he any warning that he might be selected for such honor. He had not known that the food supply was such that it was necessary to reduce the corporate group. He was filled with mild regret, since there was still so much to grok of new events, but no reluctance.

But he was excused from the effort of translating an answer by the entrance of Dr. Nelson. The ship's doctor inspected Smith and the array of dials, then turned to Smith. «Bowels move?»

Smith understood this; Nelson always asked it. «No.»

«We'll take care of that. But first you eat. Orderly, fetch that tray.»

Nelson fed him three bites, then required him to hold the spoon and feed himself. It was tiring but gave him a feeling of gay triumph for it was his first unassisted action since reaching this oddly distorted space. He cleaned the bowl and remembered to ask, «Who is this?» so that he could praise his benefactor.

«What is this, you mean,» Nelson answered. «It's a synthetic food jelly — and now you know as much as you did before. Finished? All right, climb out of that bed.»

«Beg pardon?» It was an attention symbol which was useful when communication failed.

«I said get out of there. Stand up. Walk around. Sure, you're weak as a kitten but you'll never put on muscle floating in that bed.» Nelson opened a valve, water drained out. Smith restrained a feeling of insecurity, knowing that Nelson cherished him. Shortly he lay on the floor of the bed with the watertight cover wrinkled around him. Nelson added, «Doctor Frame, take his other elbow.»

With Nelson to encourage and both to help Smith stumbled over the rim of the bed. «Steady. Now stand up,» Nelson directed. «Don't be afraid. We'll catch you if necessary.»

He made the effort and stood alone — a slender young man with underdeveloped muscles and overdeveloped chest. His hair had been cut in the Champion and his whiskers removed and inhibited. His most marked feature was his bland, babyish face — set with eyes which would have seemed at home in a man of ninety.

He stood alone, trembling slightly, then tried to walk. He managed three shuffling steps and broke into a sunny, childlike smile. «Good boy!» Nelson applauded.

He tried another step, began to tremble and suddenly collapsed. They barely managed to break his fall. «Damn!» Nelson fumed. «He's gone into another one. Here, help me lift him into bed. No — fill it first.»

Frame cut off the flow when the skin floated six inches from the top. They lugged him into it, awkwardly because he had frozen into foetal position. «Get a collar pillow under his neck,» instructed Nelson, «and call me if you need me. We'll walk him again this afternoon. In three months he'll be swinging through the trees like a monkey. There's nothing really wrong with him.»

«Yes, Doctor,» Frame answered doubtfully.

«Oh, yes, when he comes out of it, teach him to use the bathroom. Have the nurse help you; I don't want him to fall.»

«Yes, sir. Uh, any particular method — I mean, how — »

«Eh? Show him! He won't understand much that you say, but he's bright as a whip.»

Smith ate lunch without help. Presently an orderly came in to remove his tray. The man leaned over. «Listen,» he said in a low voice, «I've got a fat proposition for you.»

«Beg pardon?»

«A deal, a way for you to make money fast and easy.»

«“Money?” What is “money”?»

«Never mind the philosophy; everybody needs money. I'll talk fast because I can't stay long — it's taken a lot of fixing to get me here. I represent Peerless Features. We'll pay sixty thousand for your story and it won't be a bit of trouble to you — we've got the best ghost writers in the business. You just answer questions; they put it together.» He whipped out a paper. «Just sign this.»

Smith accepted the paper, stared at it, upside down. The man muffled an exclamation. «Lordy! Don't you read English?»

Smith understood this enough to answer. «No.»

«Well — Here, I'll read it, then you put your thumb print in the square and I'll witness it. “I, the undersigned, Valentine Michael Smith, sometimes known as the Man from Mars, do grant and assign to Peerless Features, Limited, all and exclusive rights in my true-fact story to be titled I was a Prisoner on Mars in exchange for — ”»

«Orderly!»

Dr. Frame was in the door; the paper disappeared into the man's clothes. «Coming, sir. I was getting this tray.»

«What were you reading?»

«Nothing.»

«I saw you. This patient is not to be disturbed.» They left; Dr. Frame closed the door behind them. Smith lay motionless for an hour, but try as he might he could not grok it at all.