The Colorful Character

GREGORY LAWRENCE put away his notes about food-chains among the freshwater organisms of the Pichidé River on the planet Krishna. He yawned, stretched, lit a cigarette, and said: "I hear we're supposed to be swept off our feet, beginning to-night."

Reginald Schmidt, at the next desk, raised his eyebrows, though the pale eyes remained as non-committal as ever behind their glasses. "Uh—what's that?"

"The celebrity arrives to take the Institute by storm."

"What celebrity?"

"Hadn't you heard? Jeepers, you must lead a sheltered life, boss. I refer to the great explorer of the far planets, Sir Erik Koskelainen."

"Erik Kos—here on Earth?" Schmidt, caught in the act of lighting his pipe, stared open-mouthed at his assistant until the match burned his fingers. He dropped it, swore mildly, and lit another.

Lawrence, watching the big, light-haired man, tried to make out the expression on the flat face. It was certainly more animated than he had ever seen Reggie look before, but he couldn't be sure of the meaning of the expression. It might betoken a mixture of astonishment, curiosity, indignation, and amusement, all struggling for supremacy.

"You know him?" said Lawrence.

"I know of him," mumbled Schmidt through the bush of his moustache and around the stem of his pipe. He drew heavily on the pipe between words. "Uh—what's this visit all about?"

Lawrence shrugged. "He'll be after a grant from the Institute, I suppose. He's a guest of the Ferreiras, who are throwing a big party for him at the Princeton Saturday. Going?"

Schmidt frowned at his pipe-bowl, looking a little cross-eyed as he did so. "Dunno. I usually duck those things."

"Better come. This guy is said to be a very colourful character. By the way, since you know about him, do you know if he's married?"

Up went the eyebrows again. "Not that I know of. Afraid he'll—uh—make time with Licia?"

"He might. You know how women are. He worries me. You see, I'm no colourful character."

Schmidt nodded. "You're right there, Greg. You may make a good ecologist some day, but nobody would call you picturesque. How's the affaire Licia Ferreira coming?"

"So-so. I'm going over to spend the evening sitting in the Ferreiras' parlour again."

"'Smatter, can't you afford to take the doe out?"

"You don't date Brazzy girls that way. It would be what they call an intrigue, and—well, anyway, they have their own code in those matters."

"Don't think that even if you marry the dame, as you seem determined to do, it'll get you any professional advancement or special grants. Ferreira's incorruptible, and even if he weren't, the other members of the Finance Committee—"

"I never had anything of the sort in mind!" cried Lawrence loudly. "She's just a swell wren!"

He dropped his voice as their colleague Louis Prevost stuck his long, sad face around the door-jamb and said: "You geniuses through for the day?" Prevost was an old-timer at the Institute by comparison with both Schmidt and Lawrence.

"Yep," said Lawrence. "How's the study of that misbegotten centaur of yours coming?"

Prevost sighed. "Magramen's losing friends and alienating people as usual. I think he ought to be called half man and half mule instead of half man and half horse."

"Mind if I look in on him again?" asked Lawrence.

"Not at all," said Prevost. "Maybe you can figure out a way to sweeten his disposition."

Lawrence asked Schmidt: "Want to see him, too?"

Schmidt shook his head. "For some reason I've never had much interest in the Dzlieri. If I ever get around to working on the xenology of Vishnu, then maybe I'll take a squint."

Lawrence followed Prevost down to the ground floor of the laboratory building, saying: "Maybe you could feed him an undergraduate every week. The way the guy in the myth did to his pet critter—you know, the half-bull, half-man."

Prevost shook his head. "I've been tempted, but Magramen's a pure vegetarian."

Lawrence's nose told him they were approaching Magramen's stall. The Dzlieri was not really half man and half horse. The front or upright part of him was not entirely human, with its long, pointed ears, prognathous face, four-fingered hands, and solid coat of short, glossy reddisjh hair. Nor was the rest of the extraterrestrial strictly horse, with its three-toed feet and tufted tail. Still, the resemblance to a centaur was close enough to warrant the use of the term by those who found the native Vishnuvan name hard.

Magramen paused in his eternal munching long enough to say: "What you two want, huh?"

"Just thought I'd say hello," said Lawrence. "How's the Earth treating you?"

"Your Earth treat me rotten," roared Magramen, waving his salad fork. "This morning I read newspaper about horse-race. I ask Dr. Prevost simple thing—to go to race, enter myself, win a lot of money. No harm, huh? No, stupid Mushmouth Prevost say no. Horserace people no let me in, he say."

"Well?" said Lawrence.

"What he know? Never attended race in him life. Talk about science, how we must not never jump to conclusions. But won't let me go to race, see if os fiscais won't let me in. This estûpido think I can shoris agheara gakhda all day telling legends of Dzlieri; what think idzelubuli do?"

"Hey!" cried Lawrence. "I can't follow you when you talk three languages at once. I'm afraid Louie's right about the race, though. They'd disqualify you. But if you want some exercise, when are you going to let me ride you again?"

"Never! All those saddles and things, they itch. Tell you what you do, Gregoryen. Get real horse and we have race, you on horse, me all by self, huh?"

"Jeepers, that would be a sight! I'll think about it. Have a cigarette?"

"Obrigado. Too much red tape on Earth. I think I go back to Vishnu."

"When your contract is up," reminded Prevost.

Magramen told Prevost what to do with his contract, and they left him glowering and puffing furiously.

Gregory Lawrence showed up on the Ferreira doorstep at the usual time, shook hands with the lovely brunette, and settled down to an evening of chaff under the watchful eye of Senhora Ferreira. His willingness to put up with this treatment had so far given him an edge over the undergraduates from the University who would otherwise have swarmed about Licia Ferreira.

This time Lawrence had not gotten very far in his campaign, however, when the doorbell rang again. Licia bounced out of her chair to answer it. Lawrence heard:

"But surely, come in, Mr. Koskelainen; we've been expecting you. Oh, Pai!"

Ferreira's goatee swam into view to meet the new arrival, and the voice of the chairman of the Finance Committee said: "A great pleasure, Sir Erik. This is my wife, and my youngest daughter Licia. And this is Dr. Lawrence, who works with Dr. Schmidt on his ecological survey project at the Institute."

The conquerer of far planets shot out a hand of long fingers taut with latent strength to seize Lawrence's hand and wring it—not quite hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to suggest that they could crush if they wanted to.

He was really a most impressive figure, Lawrence admitted to himself with a pang of envy; tall, broad-shouldered and slim-waisted, with light hair combined with wide cheek-bones and flattish features that gave him a slightly Mongoloid look, but still handsome by conventional standards. The man seemed to be at that delightfully indeterminate age when one is old enough to have had a past and still young enough to have a future. His clothes were the height of something or other, beginning with a red-lined Hollywood cape thrown back over one shoulder.

Jeepers, thought Lawrence, my worst fears are realised.

Here. Lawrence was, a perfectly ordinary-looking young man, forced to compete with this exhibitionistic hero. Maybe he ought to cultivate some deliberate eccentricity of appearance or behaviour, such as growing a beard or keeping a pet ostrich, to lift the curse of his commonplaceness.

Piercing eyes bored into his, and Koskelainen boomed: "Why, I know you by reputation, Dr. Lawrence!"

"Me?" Greg Lawrence had hardly thought of himself as yet having a reputation he could be known by.

"Certainly. Didn't you do that excellent report on the balance between earthworms and soil bacteria in the Philippine Islands?"

"Y-yes, I suppose so."

"Well, then?" Koskelainen clapped Lawrence lightly on the shoulder. "Of course I know all you fellows are geniuses or you couldn't get in here in the first place. Don't look cross; I'm not being sarcastic. I know a sound grasp of a subject when I see it, and why shouldn't you recognise your own worth? I envy you, you know; I'm no genius. I've just had a run of luck and the knack of handling men in tight places. How'd you like to go with me some time?" The visitor emphasised his points with graceful movements of his finger-tips.

A little overwhelmed by this flow of talk, Lawrence could only say: "Huh?"

"Sure. You know that project of mine? The thing I'm really here about? It's to persuade Dr. Ferreira and his colleagues to set up a complete biological survey of Ganesha. Never been done. We'd go in three or four teams, each of which would need at least one good ecologist. Sounds' to me as if you'd be the kind I'd want; young, healthy, good reflexes, devoted to the job, and with a solid grasp of his speciality. The pay would be right, too. Of course, there'd be some risk in a wild world like Ganesha, but I know a man of your type wouldn't let that deter him."

"Well—uh—I—"Lawrence felt himself torn several ways. Prepared to loathe this overpowering stranger, he felt himself succumbing to the man's extraordinary charm. The offer was most flattering, and just what he'd long dreamed of—though on the other hand it would take him away from Licia for several years at a stretch.

Koskelainen, as if reading his thoughts, said: "You can't answer now, of course, since nothing's settled yet. But bear it in mind; we'll talk about it some more." He turned to his host. "You know, Dr. Ferreira, you really have no business introducing me to such ravishingly beautiful daughters. First thing you know I'll be chucking the project in order to gaggle after them. Don't mind me, Senhorita; I just rattle on this way to hide my inferiority complex. Now, tell me about yourselves. Must get oriented, you know What does Miss Ferreira do? College?"

"What's—uh—what hit you?" asked Schmidt when Lawrence showed up at the laboratory next morning.

"You mean this vacant, lost look on my face?" said that young man. "I've just been given the double-whammy by Sir Erik Koskelainen, and the effect hasn't yet worn off."

"How d'you mean?"

Lawrence told of the explorer's arrival. "When I shoved off at twenty-two he was still at it. Boy, if I had that personality and those looks I wouldn't need any brains. He did most of the talking, but he was so danged amusing and flattering about it that nobody minded. When I got home I wrote down some of the funny stories he told so I can use 'em myself some time."

"A formidable type, huh?"

"I should say so. In theory I hate his viscera, but if he walked in here now, he could talk me into anything. I'd be putty in his hands."

Schmidt was digging at the bowl of his pipe. "Did he say what brought him to the Institute of Advanced Study?"

"Yeah, I was going to tell you." Lawrence described the explorer's project for a complete biological survey of the planet Ganesha.

"Hm," said Schmidt. "That would cost a bit. Let me think ...! Off-hand, I should say that it would absorb every nickel of the appropriation for new projects, and probably soak up some of the funds for old ones as well."

"You mean it might cut into ours, too?"

"Don't know yet, but it might. Think I'll look in on this shindy Saturday after all. Meanwhile, keep your eye on Sir Erik."

Next day, Lawrence told his superior: "Something's up all right. When I called up to arrange my usual session at the Ferreiras' last night, it turned out Koskelainen was taking the whole lot out to dinner; some fancy place in the city. And then when I asked about to-night, Licia told me she had a date with him. A date, mind you! This guy must have hypnotised Papa Ferreira or something, because he wouldn't violate his old Brazilian customs for anything less. Where does that leave me?"

"Uh—up a well-known tributary without adequate means of propulsion," said Schmidt. "It won't comfort you any, but you ought to know that nobody can get near this Sir Erik during the day, either. He's closeted with the Finance Committee from morning to night. It's what, in the military schools on Krishna, they call a lightning offensive."

"You been there?" Lawrence asked, for Schmidt, during the few months they had worked together, had been close-mouthed about his background.

Schmidt nodded briefly. "Once. A war-like lot, and crazy to get modern Earthly weapons. Good thing the Interplanetary Council made the Viagens Interplanetarias exclude all gadgets from the planet. By the way, where can I borrow a dinner-jacket with the fixings?"

"I've got an old one I outgrew some years ago."

"Not big enough for my purposes."

"Why, haven't you one of your own?"

"Yes, but this is for another guest."

"Who?"

"You'll see."

Schmidt had promised to drive Lawrence to the Princeton for the Institute dinner in honour of Sir Erik. Lawrence, however, was not prepared for having his boss drive up in a truck.

"What the devil, Reggie?" he cried. "That tux sure looks out of place in that van."

Schmidt puffed unperturbed on his pipe and jerked a thumb towards the rear. Got another guest with us."

"Who?"

"Uh—Magramen."

"What?"

"Yeah. He's eligible, since he's doing professional work on a project. And his table-manners can really be quite good when he takes the trouble."

"My gosh! You don't know what you're getting us into! If he thinks somebody's crossing him, he's apt to get mad and start slinging soup-bowls around the room, with the soup in them. Why did you ever ask him? I thought you had no particular use for Dzlieri."

"I had a particular use for him this time. And he'll behave."

At the hotel they got out and let down the tailgate. There was a scrambling sound from within, and the Dzlieri leaped lightly to the ground and brushed the sleeves of his dinner-jacket with his hands. Lawrence jerked in his breath when he saw the extra-terrestrial, who had his face shaved and the quasi-human part of his body clad in a dress shirt and a dinner-coat.

Schmidt said: "I thought of trying to get some sort of special pants with four legs to go over his horse part, but there wasn't time. I guess they'll consider him—ah—decent."

"Jeepers," said Lawrence, "I think he'll be spectacular enough as he is."

"Got plenty salad?" Plenty cocktail?" said Magramen. "I are hungry."

"You're always hungry, old horse," said Schmidt.

"Gotta have plenty cocktail to stand a sight of Earth-men eating meat," continued the Vishnuvan. "Disgusting species."

"That'll be taken care of," said Schmidt. "I'll even treat you, since I know you're the Galaxy's leading tightwad. Come on."

The big xenologist led the way into the hotel. He and Lawrence had to hold the folding front doors open to let Magramen pass through, since the extraterrestrial could not manage them himself because of his length of body. He went, grumbling about the stupidity of Earthly architects.

The people in the lobby showed only a mild interest in Magramen. After all, they knew about Dzlieri and other extraterrestrial species. Many of them had seen Magramen himself cantering about the town with Lawrence on his back, and finally they were hardened to the outlandish creatures that sometimes frequented the Institute of Advanced Study.

The three marched into the cocktail lounge, which was swarming with savants, who made respectful way for the Dzlieri, as though impressed by his size if not by his intellect. Schmidt ordered four double martinis, one each for Lawrence and himself and two for Magramen, whose capacity was in proportion to his bulk.

The talk and smoke were thick, and the three stood quietly drinking and batting back the greetings tossed at them while the press of great minds eddied around them.

Lawrence jerked a discreet thumb towards the densest knot at the end of the bar, from the midst of which boomed the ringing voice of Sir Erik Koskelainen.

Schmidt exchanged glances with the Vishnuvan.

Magramen said: "Now?"

"No. Wait till after dinner."

"They're going to dance, you know," said Lawrence.

Schmidt nodded. "Finish up, eyerybody. They're beginning to go in."

Under Schmidt's leadership they took places fairly well down towards the end of one leg of the horseshoe into which the tables had been arranged. One of the Institute's other two extraterrestrials, the reptilian fellow with the unpronounceable name, from Osiris, took a place next to them. The e.t.'s always had a tendency to huddle together from lonesomeness at these functions. The other one, the tailed man from Koloft on Krishna, sat across the way.

Magramen pulled out two chairs to make room to curl his equine bulk against the table. Koskelainen, resplendent in the red-and-blue full-dress of a major in the World Federation armed force, sat at the head of the horseshoe, at the right of the director. (He must have a reserve commission, thought Lawrence; was this the proper occasion to wear it? He thought not.)

Lawrence reflected that on the whole the greatest minds in the Galaxy, as the Institute was intended to comprise, were not much to look at. They ran to baldness, thick glasses, and a doddery manner which made Koskelainen stand out amongst them like a sunflower in a coal-scuttle. As for their women, with a few exceptions, the less said the better. He gulped when he saw that Licia sat on the other side of Koskelainen and was looking at him with every appearance of devotion. Beyond her sat Papa Ferreira and his Senhora.

As Institute dinners went, it wasn't so bad, especially when you considered that most of the members were notoriously indifferent to fine food, and therefore the management had no motive for laying itself out to provide a feast for gourmets. Lawrence hardly tasted his, however, what with the distractions of looking towards Licia and wondering what Schmidt was going to do.

When it was over, the director made a little speech introducing "the man who needs no introduction, our own Dr. Joao Ferreira, who will tell you about certain matters."

And Ferreira did: "—the Finance Committee has been so impressed by the proposal put forward by Sir Erik Koskelainen that we have accepted it in principle, leaving only details to be worked out. I now introduce our guest of the evening, Sir Erik Koskelainen!"

Lawrence exchanged glances with Schmidt, meaning: "So it's all decided already!" As he did so he observed that among his colleagues others likewise seemed astonished, even while they applauded politely. Lawrence thought: Like us, they're wondering if their own appropriations will be cut into. Of course, if this gloop hires a lot of the Institute personnel to run his survey, it won't make so much difference.

Koskelainen himself was speaking, forcefully, eloquently, with flashes of humour and sly self-deprecation. And he made it plain at the start that his project would make the maximum use of scholars and scientists already affiliated with the Institute. You couldn't help warming to the bird, thought Lawrence. He even had the grace to end his speech before anybody became bored.

Schmidt said: "Come on, Greg, follow him into the ballroom. Maybe we'd better let him have one dance, so there won't be such a crowd around him."

"Yeah, but he'll dance with my girl!"

"Well, whom d'you expect him to dance with? Ah—Magramen? Come along, old horse! You've eaten enough salads for one evening."

"Ain't that many salads," growled the Dzlieri, scooping up another fistful.

They straggled into the ballroom. Sure enough, Koskelainen was spinning away down the floor with Licia Ferreira, dodging through the Institute couples like a speedboat cutting through a lot of barge tows. The tailed man was trying awkwardly to dance with the director's wife, and Louis Prevost, dancing with Professor Saito's wife, was looking over her shoulder apprehensively at Magramen, as if wondering how long the Dzlieri would continue to behave himself.

Lawrence saw Schmidt timing the revolutions of the dancers about the floor. As the number ended, the xenologist said: "Come on!" and pushed towards Koskelainen, conspicuous in his finery. Schmidt said to Lawrence: "Introduce us."

"Hello, Sir Erik," said Lawrence. "I'd like you to meet a couple of friends of mine: Dr. Schmidt and Mr. Magramen.

Schmidt, shaking hands, said: "I don't think you remember me, do you?"

Koskelainen, all smiles, said: "Not off-hand, unless I ran into you at some meeting. I—" His voice trailed off as Schmidt removed his glasses.

Schmidt said: "I don't think you ever met Magramen, though you knew a lot of the Dzlieri on Vishnu, and he's known about you for a long time. Haven't you, Magramen?"

"Is sure thing," said Magramen, extending a hairy-backed hand. "Chrdul karu uqe dres, tsameskhmilma usuni otsnet djor?"

"I beg your pardon?" beamed Koskelainen. "I'm afraid you've got me on that dialect, old man."

"Funny how soon you've forgotten it, isn't it?" said Schmidt. "Listen again."

Magramen repeated his sentence. An interested circle of spectators had formed. Koskelainen frowned. "What sort of gag is this?"

"No gag at all. A few years ago you were fluent in Magramen's dialect, as you call it."

"Oh, well, a man can forget!"

"That is, Koskelainen was fluent in it when he was on Vishnu. Suppose you tell us about your work on that stay? Especially since Magramen was there at the time, when the real Koskelainen visited the planet, so he can—uh—corroborate——"

"Say, are you calling me a fake?"

"Precisely."

"Why you—you Venerian mud-worm! I thought the members of the Institute were gentlemen as well as scholars. It seems I was mistaken. Good-night, everybody." Koskelainen shouldered through the circle of spectators.

Ferreira appeared with a stricken expression. "My heavens, Reggie, what have you done? Sir Erik, wait, wait! There must be some mistake!"

"Stop that guy," said Schmidt. "He's no more Erik Koskelainen than I'm Napoleon."

Lawrence pushed after the departing guest of honour. Magramen, clenching and unclenching fists with a gleeful expression, clattered behind him. By the time they reached the front door, pursued and pursuers were both running.

Magramen said in a disappointed tone: "If he get outside, I no can catch. Can't see in dark."

"I'll fix that," said Lawrence. "Hold still a sec." The young ecologist vaulted onto the Dzlieri's back. "Now, giddap, and I'll guide you. Hey, you!" This was to a startled bellboy. "Hold that front door open for us, will you?" He ducked through the door, thinking how lucky it was not of the revolving kind.

"Hang it!" said Lawrence. "The. guy's got away—no, there he is! On your right!" He had glimpsed the gaudy uniform trying to slip out of sight behind some of the ornamental shrubbery ranged along the front of the Princeton.

As they neared the shrub, Koskelainen broke into a run and Magramen into a gallop. The savants were streaming out of the hotel now, and they gave chase, too. However, their age soon left them far in the rear, though the tailed man from Koloft did not do too badly.

Koskelainen ran like the wind, but the Dzlieri like the hurricane.

As Magramen overtook him, Koskelainen dodged. Lawrence, gripping the slack of Magramen's coat to steady himself with left hand, leaned far to the right and caught Koskelainen's hair.

Koskelainen jerked frantically and the hair came off with a ripping sound. Lawrence found himself holding a well-made wig, and Koskelainen's natural hair was seen in the light of the street-lamp to be the bright green of a Krishnan. Furthermore, it transpired that the wig had included a peak of artificial skin coming down low over the forehead to hide the feathery antennas that sprang from between the Krishnan's eyebrows.

Magramen had skidded to a stop and whirled. Before the Krishnan could dodge again, the Dzlieri seized him and hoisted him high in the air.

"What you want me do with he?" said Magramen. "Can have much fun busting skull against an lamppost, I think, yeah, huh?"

"No, just carry him back. Oh, here's a cop. Officer, will you pinch this guy?"

"Which one? The inhuman monster or the felly he's holding?"

"The felly he's holding."

"What for?"

"Well, for impersonating a military officer will do to begin with. Here's Dr. Schmidt, from the Institute, who'll tell you all you need to know about it."

Schmidt said, after getting his breath: "Guess I'll have to—uh—go to the station-house to comply with formalities. Where's the nearest one?"

The policeman gave the address of the Third Precinct headquarters. Schmidt said: "Greg, get the truck and drive Magramen down there to pick me up. See you in a few minutes."

On his way back to the hotel, Lawrence encountered Licia Ferreira, streaming along with the general rout of members and guests of the Institute. Expecting appreciation for the athletic part he had played in unmasking the impostor, he said: "Licia, I—"

"I don't care to talk to you, Mr. Lawrence!" And off she went, leaving Lawrence standing on the sidewalk with his mouth open.

He pulled himself together and led Magramen to the truck. Half an hour later they picked up Schmidt. The xenologist exuded self-satisfaction, but Lawrence had his own troubles. "She wouldn't speak to me!" he moaned. "Wouldn't even let me explain!"

"Well, what d'you expect?" said Schmidt, lighting his pipe. "I suppose she'd fallen for this bleep, and you busted her illusion. You don't—uh—expect people to thank you for that, do you?"

Lawrence sighed. "I suppose not."

"Cheer up. Either she'll get over it, in which case everything'll be okay, or she won't, in which case you're lucky to escape such a dumb jane."

"Who was Koskelainen really?"

"Oh, that. Just a Krishnan named Chabarian bad-Seraz, a suitor for the hand of the only daughter of the King of Balhib. All very romantic. The king wants to industrialise and arm his country and make a great power of it, regardless of Interplanetary Council policies. So he told this bird he could have his daughter and be his successor to the throne if he'd go to Earth and bring back certain things, like that fellow in the myths who had to get the golden apples and things. Herakles, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but what were the things?"

"Oh, first, a fund of technical information adequate to effect an industrial revolution. Second, a group of technicians to teach the Balhibuma what they needed to know about science and engineering. Third, enough money to bribe any I.C. or Viagens people who might try to stop them.

"I think Ghabarian under-estimated the honesty of the I.C.. and the Viagens, but you'll admit he was ingenious in carrying out the plan. For one thing he looked like Koskelainen, and for another he mastered the part of an Earthman almost perfectly. The real Koskelainen was never such a flamboyant character, though. If we take the heels of his shoes apart we'll probably find a whole technical encyclopaedia on microfilm stuffed into them. And by getting this grant from the Institute and enlisting a flock of scientists for service on a far planet he hoped to accomplish his other tasks."

Lawrence said: "How did he expect to get past the physical examinations for Viagens passengers without being found out?"

"The same way he did on the trip in, I suppose. Money."

"You seem to know an awful lot about this, Reggie. How did you find it out?"

Schmidt grinned. "You seem discreet enough. Can you keep something under your hat?"

"I guess so."

"Well, I'm really Erik Koskelainen."

"What?"

"Sure. Chabarian didn't know me at first with my glasses and whiskers."

"Tell me about it?"

"Oh, it's nothing much. When I visited Balhib the king first tried to get me to help him with his scheme. When I wouldn't he threw me in the jug. Then when I pretended to fall in with it in order to get out, he wouldn't trust me. Instead, he sent Chabarian to socialise with me. It wasn't for some time that I got wise to the fact that he was studying me in order to take my place. Don't know how he got to Earth—he must have taken a job at Novorecife in order to study human beings some more.

"Anyway, I escaped from the king's cooler and came back myself. The king had treated me pretty rough so my nerves were shot, and I thought I needed a few months of some quiet job incog, and got this one. I'd told Chabarian about the Institute in the course of a conversation in my cell, so I thought he might show up here sooner or later. Then, when he did, I couldn't denounce him directly without exposing myself, but Magramen took care of that."

They drew up to the laboratory building and got out and let Magramen out of the truck body. Schmidt opened the door with his pass-key, and led the way down the corridor towards the Dzlieri's stall. Magramen clattered behind, peering into the empty offices.

Lawrence glanced back at their companion and lowered his voice to ask a final question: "How did you get our equine friend to co-operate so nicely? Poor Prevost has been trying to for months without getting anywhere."

"Simple again. I knew what was making Magramen wild, so I promised him a beautiful blonde."

"What?" cried Lawrence with something like horror. "Jeepers, you can't! I mean it's physically impossible!"

"Can't I?" As they approached the stall a whinny came from within, and there stood a bay mare. Schmidt nudged his subordinate. "Uh—see what I mean?"