The Swords of Zinjaban

I – Fergus Reith

The Pará set down on a pillar of flame. Long, lean, and auburn-haired, Fergus Reith waited at the lower end of the ramp as the interstellar travelers straggled down to set foot on the soil of the planet Krishna. Beside him stood a stripling, with hair as carroty red as his own had been twenty Terran years ago.

A group consisting of two men and a woman emerged from the crowd. These, Reith decided, might be his new clients from Cosmic Productions. But as they came into full view, Reith's jaw went slack. The concrete of the spaceport seemed to vanish beneath his feet, leaving him in free-fall. For the woman in the lead was Dr. Alicia Dyckman, the eminent xenanthropologist—who, a score of years before, had been Mrs. Fergus Reith.

As she approached, lithe in a blue-and-gold-jumper that matched her sapphire eyes and smooth blond hair, Reith experienced a dizzying sense of time travel. He knew that he had aged during the intervening years. Despite the longevity pills that tripled the normal human life span, the passage of time had marked him. And here came Alicia, looking no older than the day when, twenty Terran years ago, she had mounted the ramp to the Juruá, weeping because Reith, the husband whom she had deserted and divorced, would not take her back. She was the same tallish, slender, animated, golden woman, with delicate features and a tip-tilted nose. The illusion of fragility still clung to her; although Reith knew full well that, physically and mentally, she was as strong as a man and as tough as nails.

Reith also knew that the cause of this apparent anomaly in their ages lay in the relativistic effects of space travel. For two decades, Reith had plied his trade as a tour guide on Krishna; and for him, time had plodded by at its normal rate. Alicia, on the other hand, had spent most of that interval journeying between Krishna and their home planet Earth, at a velocity close to the speed of light. For her, time had slowed to a crawl, and the transit from planet to planet seemed little more than a fortnight.

As the trio completed their descent, Reith pulled himself together and stepped forward. "Hello, Alicia!" he said with a casualness that disguised the painful pounding of his heart. "Are you and these gentlemen my new clients from Cosmic Productions?"

Alicia's sky-blue eyes widened. "Fergus Reith! Is it really you?"

"I—I'm ..."

"You look so different, somehow, in spectacles. And your hair's darker—a nice auburn instead of that fiery red."

A trifle self-consciously, they shook hands. With a self-deprecating grin, Reith murmured: "Well, I haven't gotten any younger in twenty years, Earth time." To avoid an awkward pause, he turned with forced cordiality to the two men. "Welcome to Krishna! I'm Fergus Reith, your guide, interpreter, and general trouble-shooter."

With a visible effort, Alicia regained her composure. "This is Cyril Ordway, production manager for Cosmic Productions; and Jacob White, the location manager. I'm the assistant production manager."

Murmuring amenities, the newcomers shook hands with Reith. Ordway, he saw, was a pudgy individual with a sandy mustache and a mottled complexion. Little red veins gave his thick snub nose a roseate hue. White, slight of build, seemed a nervous person, who repeatedly combed his thinning black hair across a balding scalp. Glancing from Reith to Alicia, Ordway said, in a concise Londonese accent, "I take it you two know each other already?"

"Yes," said Reith shortly. "And this is my son Alister; Doctor Dyckman, Mr. Ordway, Mr. White. Let's move along to Baggage Claim, so as not to hold up the line."

As the youth pushed ahead, followed by Ordway and White, Alicia whispered: "Your son looks so like you! Your wife must be proud of him."

Reith shook his head. "No wife. I'll tell you about it later." Raising his voice, he said: "Here's Baggage Claim, gentlemen. When you've located your luggage, I'll take you through Customs and Security and help you get settled." He turned to his son and dropped his voice again. "I'll see you back home in time for dinner, String. Tell Kardir to set an extra place."

Young Alister disappeared. An hour later, Reith and his party headed for the Visitors' Building in the Novorecife compound, behind a burly Krishnan who wheeled a laden baggage cart. They traversed an aggregation of massive concrete structures, their starkness slightly relieved by touches of ornamentation in Krishnan style on roofs and doorways.

Reith stowed his clients and their baggage in their respective rooms, leaving Alicia and her possessions to the last. When the porter had departed, Reith said: "Look, Lish, as soon as I arrange for your colleagues' dinners, why don't you come out to my place? My Krishnan cook makes meals at the Novo cafeteria look like cold slumgullion."

The term "Lish" evoked a fleeting smile from Alicia; Reith had always called her that when they were on friendly terms. "Where is your place?" she asked.

"Two or three hoda out of Novo. It's a small ranch, with enough hectares to raise a few shaihans. How about it? We have a lot to talk about, and here the walls have ears."

"Sounds tempting. But we can't just desert poor Cyril and Jack!"

"They will be taken care of." In the Portuguese of the Viagens Interplanetarias, Reith spoke crisply into the room communicator. "Zero cinco ... Herculeu? Do me the favor of taking two of my clients to dinner, will you please?"

"¿E a dama deleitosa?" rasped the machine in the same language.

"She has other plans," said Reith.

"Bem." Herculeu Castanhoso's snicker resounded over the communicator. An hour earlier, at the immigration desk, the security officer had made a great fuss over Alicia. Like everyone else in the Terran community, Herculeu knew the bittersweet story of the long-ago romance between the social scientist and the professional tour guide.

Ignoring Herculeu's chuckle, Reith turned back to Alicia. "All fixed!"

"Well, if you're sure—"

"Of course, wear your outdoor clothes, and bring overnight essentials."

She looked sharply at him. "What sort of quarters are you putting me in?"

"Fear not," he said with a mischievous grin. "You'll have your own room, with a bolt on the door big enough to stop a bishtar. And Alister—"

A knock announced Ordway, who plaintively asked: "I say, Reith! When do we get something to drink? I haven't had a bloody drop in a fortnight, and I'm tripping over my tongue."

"In a few minutes," replied Reith. "The Nova Iorque doesn't open till the ninth hour, Krishnan time. Lish, want to wassail with us?"

"No, thanks. I need to clean up. Come back when you're through."

In the cocktail lounge, Reith and White sipped light falat wine. Ordway took a generous draft of the kvad he had ordered. "Not bad," he said, staring into his mug.

"Be careful," said Reith. "It's deceptively smooth, but it runs up to 35 percent alcohol."

"Don't worry," said Ordway, gulping another swig. He glanced about at the other patrons, staring at the Krishnans among them. These were, for extraterrestrials, remarkably humanoid in appearance, save for their pointed ears, olfactory antennae, and faintly greenish complexions. Ordway said, "Tell me about these wogs. I thought they had no hair on their feces, but those two seem to have beards."

"It's a fed among Krishnans," said Reith. "False beards in imitation of Earthmen."

Ordway laughed so loudly that heads turned, and White looked worried. "By God's foreskin!" cried Ordway. "That's a hell of a thing! Thank the Lord, we human beings haven't started trying to look like Krishnans —yet. What are those feathery things above their eyebrows, like a moth's feelers?"

"Organs of smell," said Reith, lowering his voice in an attempt to warn his brash companion. "Some Krishnans have an olfactory sense much keener than ours—like a hound's."

For half a Krishnan hour, Reith answered questions about the planet and its inhabitants. Ordway asked: "They do look jolly human, except for those feelers. Tell me, how do they—ah—go about making little Krishnans?"

Reith grinned. "Much the same way we do. But they're oviparous."

"Eh?" Ordway looked blank.

"They lay eggs."

"Oh. How about Krishnans and people? I mean, if you put a he of one species with a she of the other, could they—ah—"

"Yes, they could. Their organs look different, but they're still compatible."

"Like British and American lighting fixtures?"

"Exactly. As far as I know, they're the only extraterrestrials you can say that of."

"Is there any—ah—interracial frigadoon around here?"

Reith shrugged. "Some; mostly male Terrans mating with female Krishnans. The other combination is rare."

"Why is that?"

"For one thing, Terran males outnumber Terran females, so the girls can easily get human husbands. For another, Terran women say they don't enjoy sex with Krishnans; it's over too quickly."

Ordway's round, ruddy face took a sly look. "Have you ever—ah—rogered a Krishnan female?"

Bristling, Reith began: "None of—" Then he checked himself, not wishing to get relations with these new clients off to a bad start.

"Sorry!" said Ordway. "No offense intended; but one can't help being curious."

"That's okay," said Reith. "Matter of fact, I was once married to a native princess."

"I say, that could be the basis for a script! What happened? I mean, what was the upshot?"

"Annulment on grounds of coercion."

"Who did the coercing?"

"I'll tell you the story someday, maybe," said Reith firmly.

Ordway looked disappointed but forbore to pursue the matter. He asked: "How about offspring? I mean, are there little half-Krishnans mucking about?"

"No. Their organs may be compatible with ours, but their genetic systems are not. It would be easier to cross a man with a geranium."

"I've known men who'd been crossed with pansies," smirked Ordway.

White interjected: "Cyril is a man of strong prejudices."

"I know what's normal, that's all," said Ordway. "Look here, how about another round? I'm as dry as your American Death Valley."

Reith signaled to Yang. He and White drank only falat; but Ordway laid heavily into the much stronger kvad. Whereas drinking made Ordway boisterously cheerful, it seemed to depress White. Reith asked: "What's the matter, Mr. White? Don't you like the prospect of shooting a picture here?"

White smiled weakly. "Call me Jack. To tell the truth, I don't. I didn't want to leave Terra, but Stavrakos—"

"Who?"

"Kostis Stavrakos, my boss; he insisted. He knew I had no dependents at the moment, so I didn't have an excuse for backing out."

"You haven't suffered so far, have you?"

"That's not it. I don't mind travel, at least on Earth; but, you see, I'm an observant Jew. God knows how I'll obey the dietary laws here, or keep track of the holy days."

"I understand," said Reith. "We get Muslims who can't figure out how to pray towards Mecca. As for the holy days, we have our own clocks and calendars, since our day and year are longer than Earth's, while the moon—that is, one revolution of Karrim—is shorter than the Terran month. But the boys in Space Control can tell you what day it is on Earth. As to the food, you'll just have to become a vegetarian, since we have nothing here exactly corresponding to a Terran ruminant."

Lugubriously, White nodded. "I feel this will be my unlucky trip. And another thing ... I follow my horoscope at home—"

"Damned superstitious nonsense," growled Ordway.

Reith asked: "Isn't there something in the Old Testament about astrologers being burned with fire?"

"Yes, in Forty-seventh Isaiah," said White. "Rut in Judges it says the stars in their courses fought against Sisera. So there must be something to astrology after all."

"You can stop worrying about that, at least," said Reith. "The official religion of the Gozashtando Empire is a kind of home-grown astrology. It's exactly as scientific as the Terran variety. You'll see when we get there."

As talk continued, Reith uneasily noted that Ordway's voice grew louder and that his speech, less guarded, developed a touch of Cockney. As his voice became harsh, his words waxed offensive.

"Look at that twee bloke with the sword!" boomed Ordway. "Oo the hell does the bloody wog think he is? For ten bob I'd pull his goddam beard off!"

"Shut up!" snapped Reith. "That's Prince Ferrian of Sotaspé, a big shot around here. He's also a dangerous fighter and an old friend of mine."

"I don't give a shi' if he's the bloody emperor. I say no fuckin' greenie 'as any business in a white man's bar. I'll pull the twit's bleeding beard off—"

"That's about the quickest way of getting yourself killed that I know of," barked Reith. "Jack, can't you do something with this ass before he starts a brawl?"

The object of Ordway's vulgarisms, a tall Krishnan wearing a purple tunic aglitter with golden spangles, rose, stared coldly at Ordway, and stalked out of the bar.

White shrugged helplessly. "I'll try! But when liquor gets into him—"

"Oo you calling a hass?" said Ordway. "I don't let no fuckin' Yank—"

"Shut up, Goddamn it! Here comes Herculeu to take the two of you to dinner. You met him in Customs and Security, remember?"

The small, squirrel-like security officer approached. White plaintively asked: "Aren't you coming with us, Fergus?"

"Sorry; I've got another engagement."

"Oho!" chortled Ordway. " 'E's gonna have a tryst wiv the feir Alicia. I can tell you, mate, it's no good asking her to 'oist her skirt—"

"One more crack out of you," said Reith, rising, "and I'll show you what you can do with your movie ..."

"Cyril!" bleated White. "For Christ's sake, pull yourself together! Help me to get him out, Fergus."

White and Reith hauled Ordway to his feet and, with Castanhoso pushing from behind, started for the door. As they passed a table at which sat a Terran and a Krishnan, the latter wearing a false beard of purplish hue, Ordway wrenched loose, reached down, and yanked off the hairpiece.

"Hishkako baghan!" shouted the Krishnan, bounding to his feet. Instantly they were trading punches, while other patrons scrambled out of the way. A chair went over; glass shattered. Yang the bartender yelled: "Stop! Pare! Quitez! Bù huì! Ostanovityes'!"

Round and round they went, stumbling over broken glass and slipping on spilled liquids, flailing at each other with more vim than accuracy. Then the Krishnan kicked Ordway in the belly. As the Englishman doubled over, Castanhoso and the Krishnan's companion, a large, blond man who seemed to Reith vaguely familiar, seized the Krishnan's arms and pulled him back. Reith caught one of Ordway's wrists, while White grabbed the other.

For a moment the fighters glared and panted. Then Ordway, strong despite his dissipated look, wrenched his arm loose from White, throwing the slight location manager back against a table, which went over with a crash. With a yell of: "No fuckin' wog can lack me!" Ordway aimed a roundhouse swing at the Krishnan. He landed instead on the head of the Krishnan's companion, who released the Krishnan to roar: "Du Scheisskeri! Ich bringe dich um!"

The German swung at Ordway but instead connected with the side of Reith's head. Reith staggered and almost fell, but managed to retain his grip on Ordway's arm.

Yang, the bartender, pushed forward holding a siphon bottle. He aimed the nozzle at Ordway's face, pulled the trigger, and discharged a stream of carbonated water. The stream flowed until Ordway, half-drowned, raised his free arm in surrender. While others hustled the Krishnan out, a dripping Ordway stood coughing and choking.

Castanhoso looked at Reith and spoke in Portuguese: "Senhor Dom Fergus, I perceive that you are involved with one of those who may make trouble for us all if allowed to run loose. If you wish to file an expulsion request, I will put him back on the Pará for return to Terra as an undesirable."

Reith frowned. "Not just yet, Herculeu. This film job he's here for is too big and involves too much caixa for me to upset it lightly."

They hauled Ordway to the men's room and wiped him down. Ordway grumbled: "Oo the 'ell you fink you are? Don't nobody stand up for a white man's rights?"

Reith grabbed the slack of Ordway's jacket and thrust his face close to that of the drunken production manager. He snarled: "Look, you stupid bastard, I could have you put back on the Pará and shipped to Terra, and your half-billion movie would go down the drain. One more yelp out of you and I'll do it; understand?"

Ordway stared at the floor, clenched and unclenched his fists, swore under his breath, and finally muttered: "Okye, Reith, I guess I did rather let myself go. You've got me by the prick."

"Furthermore," said Reith, "if I take you out in the field, the first time I see you under the influence, back you go to Novo. Get it?"

Ordway mumbled what might have been an assent. Reith said: "All right, you two can go to dinner now with Herculeu."

Castanhoso whispered: "You really should come with us, Fergus. You know more about the project of these clowns than I."

Reith grinned. "Desculpe, mas tenho uma entrevista."

Castanhoso sighed. "With such a woman, I cannot blame you. Enjoy yourself!"

As Reith left the Nova Iorque, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he found the large blond German. "Mr. Reith, not so?"

"Yes."

"The blow was unintentional, I assure you. There is, dennoch, another matter." The man brought his heels sharply together, gave a stiff little bow, and handed Reith a calling card reading:

Herr Enrique v. Schlegel

Kultursachverständiger

Reith stiffened. "Hello, Schlegel. I didn't know you without your whiskers."

The man bowed again. "If you will inform me of where you are staying, my seconds will call upon you to make arrangements. It must be outside of Novorecife, to comply with the law, and it must be early, because tomorrow leave I for Qirib."

"What on earth are you talking about?" said Reith. "Are you proposing a duel?"

"Naturally; honor demands it."

"Oh, grow up, Schlegel! Anyway, since I'm the one who was hit, it's up to me to demand satisfaction."

"I refer not to the accidental blow this afternoon, for which I apologize; but to the foul stroke you gave me in Mishé two years ago."

"Are you serious?"

"I am always serious. Will swords be satisfactory, or prefer you some other weapon?"

"Don't be silly! I don't fight duels; if I did, I'd pick the Novo cafeteria's rolls at ten paces. They're hard enough. But we're not living in the Middle Ages."

"Ah, but we are! Most Krishnans are in that stage of culture. That is the true Heldenalter. Will you fight, or are you a decadent coward?"

"I don't duel; but if you attack me, I'll defend myself. Several have tried, but they're no longer with us. Good night!"

Reith strode off, uncomfortably aware of his weaponless state. But nothing struck him in the back.

As red Roqir hung in a greenish sky amid the spires of ancient trees, like a beach ball impaled on a picket fence, Reith handed Alicia into the gig. She asked, "Where's your son?"

"I sent him ahead to tell my people to get dinner ready."

"You sound like landed gentry."

"Not really. I have just a cook, and a couple for general work, plus a few shaihan-herds and my secretary Minyev."

"Minyev? That's a Khaldoni name. Would it by any chance be my old factotum in the Khaldoni lands?"

"Yep; same one."

"What a coincidence!"

"Not really," said Reith. "Although he ran out on you, he still wanted to work for Terrans. He's got his eye on a diplomatic career. So our would-be Krishnan Talleyrand beat his way here, picking up odd jobs. A few years ago, he got my name from somebody who'd known us both and applied for the post when I needed someone to handle the bookkeeping."

"A clever little fellow," said Alicia.

"Right. In fact he can imitate my handwriting so perfectly he makes me nervous, lest he some day forge my name to a check."

Reith flicked the single aya with his whip, and the horned, six-legged beast trotted smartly out through the compound gate. In the open country, Reith turned towards his onetime wife for the simple, sensuous pleasure of looking at a beautiful woman, smiling in the ruddy light of the setting primary.

He saw Alicia's eyes widen with concern. "Fergus! where did you get that horrid great bruise on your cheek?"

"Your colleague Ordway drank not wisely but too well in the Nova Iorque and started a brawl. I got in the way of a roundhouse meant for him."

"Oh, dear! I was afraid of something like that. Cyril couldn't booze up on the Pará, so I guess he was making up for lost time. Would a drop of cologne help?"

"No, thanks; the skin's not broken."

"What happened in the bar?" she queried.

Reith summarized Ordway's behavior and Schlegel's subsequent challenge, adding: "Like all my tourists, they brought up Topic A."

"Krishnan sex?"

"Sure; who does what with what. I've gotten used to explaining about the bees and the flowers, as if we had bees and flowers here."

"I hope you don't tell them about us," she said.

"I haven't mentioned it. Why, don't they know?"

"No, though I suppose they'll find out sooner or later. I hope it's later."

"What's the difference? It's not as if we'd robbed the bank at Novo."

"The whole location crew would pry into my history, or try to match me up, or ... All movie people are gossips or romantic busybodies."

"My dear Alicia, they're bound to hear. The next Novo News will be out in a few days with the story. You can bet Meilung's checking the passenger list against the morgue right now—"

"Who's Meilung?"

"Meilung Guan—or Guan Meilung, if you prefer—is the reporter for the News. She was at the landing. I thought she'd buttonhole you people; but instead she got involved with that Balkan politician."

"I did see a cute little Chinese-looking girl with a camera; but mostly I was looking for you. I thought everybody would have forgotten me by now."

Reith chuckled. "Forgetting you, my dear, is about as easy as forgetting the Los Angeles earthquake. When word gets around, every Terran will have his psychic antennae quivering with curiosity about us. Novo's just a small town, where gossip is the leading sport."

Alicia sighed. "Anyway, let's not tell Cyril and Jack anything unless we must."

"I'll be as silent as Dejanai's tomb, as long as possible. As they say in Zamba, sooner recall a shaft that has left the bow than a word that has passed the lips."

For a while they rode silently, hearing the rhythmic beat of the aya's six hooves and watching Roqir's last rays cast a rainbow across the bright-hued vegetation. "Funny," said Alicia at last. "I feel as if I were coming home."

"Do you intend to become a Krishnander after your present job?" Reith asked. "What's a Krishnander?"

"That's what nowadays we call a Terran permanently domiciled on Krishna. I wondered if you planned to stay here."

Alicia smiled enigmatically. "I don't know. It depends ..."

Maybe she thinks it depends on me, Reith reflected, and briskly changed the subject. "Here's my property line."

The aya quickened its pace. Soon the gig drew up at a rambling, one-story building, designed in a hybrid Krishnan-Terran style, half-timbered with a wide veranda. Reith handed Alicia down and showed her to her room as his groundsman carried in her overnight bag and led the aya away.

"It's a fine evening," said Reith. "Let's have drinks on the terrace. What'll you have?"

"Just a little light falat, please. My, what a handsome, well-kept place! Some of these Krishnan things are beautiful!"

Reith grinned. "The fruits of my tourists' gratitude. My geese often get together to give me a draft or a gift certificate. Luckily, Sivird at the Outfitting Shop has good taste; he's helped me with the furnishings."

As an aproned Krishnan appeared in the corridor, Reith called out in Gozashtandou: "Oh, Kardir! Falat of Mishdákh on the veranda, please; and dinner in half an hour!"

Alicia cautiously sipped her wine. "Excellent! I haven't tasted Krishnan drinks since ..." After an awkward pause, she said: "Were you expecting me, Fergus?"

"No! You were a complete surprise—a shock you could have registered on the Richter scale. You haven't grown a day older, while I'm settling into middle age."

"I must say you're looking splendid; just as fit as ever."

Reith ignored the compliment. "Did you expect me at the ramp?"

"I thought you might be there. You see, I sold Kostis Stavrakos the idea of hiring you as our guide."

"So that's how a fat, juicy contract fell out of interstellar space into my lap! Thanks a lot, Lish; I can use the fric."

"Be sure to demand at least half your money at the start. The movie industry's full of fairy gold, and I don't mean sexual deviation."

"Advice noted. Who's this Stav—whatever his name is?"

"Kostis Stavrakos is the producer, the man in overall charge of the film project. You'll meet him when the shooting crew arrives." Alicia studied the long shadows across the meadow. "Tell me how you come to have a son when you're not married?"

Reith gave a sour smile, almost a grimace. "I wondered when you'd get around to asking." Soberly he explained: "I married one of my tourists, a girl named Elizabeth. A couple of years after Alister's birth, she left and got a divorce. Then she died; that's all."

With more tact than had been her former wont, Alicia forbore to quiz Reith for details. She said: "I wonder that no nice girl has lassoed you during the last fifteen years or so."

Reith smiled. "Ever try to rope a crafty old bull shaihan? A few local ladies have sent me signals, but I haven't followed them up. After two divorces and an annulment, I realize I'm not cut out for spousehood."

"Nonsense, Fergus! Any woman with the sense of a retarded flatworm would be glad of a fine man like you." She reached over and gave his hand a little squeeze.

But you weren't, he thought. Aloud he said: "Nope. Three tries; no brass ring. I'm no gambler, and I've given up that kind of roulette. 'Down to Gehenna or up to the throne, he travels the fastest who travels alone.' "

"Perhaps; but then he has nothing to do when he gets there."

Reith chuckled. "Kipling never thought of that angle, not having your X-ray insight." He heaved a small sigh. "At least I have Alister."

"You poor thing! And it's all my fault."

"No, it's not. You did what you were programmed for, and so did I. So stop feeling guilty!"

"The spouse who leaves normally feels guilt, while the one who's left loses self-esteem. I'll get rid of my guilt when you get back your self-esteem!"

Reith laughed gently. "It's a deal, though I don't know that one can do these things on order. Anyway, it's all behind us now. Tell me how the world's been treating you. Any adventures?"

Alicia shrugged. "I have no tale to tell. Since I left Krishna, I've been chased often enough, but nobody's caught me."

"Chased but chaste, eh? Have you turned back into the little blond icicle you once were?"

"Not really. But my psychotherapy took most of a year, leaving no time for romance."

"What's it like, this Moritzian treatment?"

"Like a surgical operation without anesthetic. And after it was over, I had to cram for my new job."

"How did you come to be hired by Cosmic?"

"Some exec there had read one of my books, and they got in touch with me. Stavrakos was looking for someone with Krishnan expertise to ride herd on his movie. My joining the team caused a fist fight between Stavrakos and Fodor."

Reith asked: "Who's Fodor?"

"Attila Fodor is the director, who thinks he's a reincarnation of Attila the Hun. They say he's so tough he holds his socks up with thumbtacks. Thinks he knows all he needs to about Krishna, and resents outside advice, especially from a woman."

"Who won the fight?"

"Neither; people pulled them apart. Those human canker sores heartily dislike each other, but they make better pictures together than separately. So they stick."

"Like Gilbert and Sullivan?"

"Precisely. Kostis thinks he's a great artist as well as a financial wizard; so he tampers with the scripts and sets, and that makes Fodor furious. Actually, Kostis has all the esthetic sensitivity of Paddy's pig. He admires me; I guess that proves I'm no great shakes."

"Come on, Lish!" said Reith. "You've never lacked admirers, honorable or otherwise."

"Sure; I gather propositions the way garbage does flies. People assume a divorcee is good for high diddle any time of day or night."

"It's lust that makes the world go round."

"Perhaps; but I'd want a good husband or nobody at all."

"Well, Krishna's the place to look, for demographic reasons." Reith's imp of perversity tricked him into adding, with a wry smile: "I tried to be a good husband." He instantly regretted the remark.

"Fergus, if you say another word about that, you'll make me cry. You were a splendid husband until I spoiled it all." She blew her nose.

Reith quickly changed the subject. "Tell me, what does an assistant production manager do?"

"Oh, I'm just a glorified gofer, handling matters the production manager can't or won't.

"What I don't understand," said Reith, "is how a company can send its people off on a project for which they won't see results for twenty years."

"Big corporations can afford to take the long view; like raising trees commercially or building a fusion-power plant. They want to find out if shooting on another planet can be profitable despite the long lead time."

"Isn't Stavrakos afraid someone will steal his job while he's away?"

She smiled. "They say he's a sharp man with a contract; so I'm sure he's taken precautions."

"Let's hope we don't have trouble with that nut Schlegel. His last flimflam scheme—"

The cook appeared to say in Gozashtandou, "Sir and Madam, dinner is served."

When Alister Reith joined Fergus and his guest at dinner, Alicia drew the young man out with the skill of an experienced interviewer.

"I go to school in Novo, Miss—I mean Doctor Dyckman," he said. "But what I really like is working the shaihans with the Krishnans."

With paternal pride, Reith said: "Here's a rancher in the making. I'm also breaking him in as a tour guide; he'll be good at that, too, I hope."

After dinner, they sat around a crackling wood fire; for Krishnan nights, as a result of the slower rotation of the planet, became quite cold even in low latitudes. Throughout the evening, Alicia eagerly asked for news of people she had known, and Reith gave long, gossipy replies. She inquired: "Where's Ken Strachan nowadays?"

Reith chuckled. "Poor Ken! The great apostle of love 'em and leave 'em fell hook, line, and sinker for one of the secretaries, Juanita Rincon."

"Juana's daughter?"

"The same. The last I heard, Ken was in Rosid, building mechanical toys for the Dasht of Ruz. When he's away from home, they say ..." Reith glanced at his son's eager face. "Hey, String! Isn't it about time you hit the books?"

Looking disappointed, Alister said good night and vanished. Reith remarked: "There's a problem with Alister, which I share with other local parents."

"What problem?"

"Higher education. I'm sure he's college material; but I don't want to send him to Terra and not see him again for a quarter-century, if ever. As for Krishnan universities—well, you know what they teach. Some of us are trying to start a Novorecife College."

"Splendid!" said Alicia. "Maybe you could use me on your faculty."

"Hey, that's an idea! If you decide to stay, that is. I'll bring the matter up the next time the committee meets ..."

The talk trailed off; at last, by wordless consent, Reith and Alicia rose. Reith said: "If you want anything, Lish, that's my room down the hall."

For several heartbeats, Reith and Alicia stared silently, as if wondering what to say next. Reith was tempted to invite her to share his bed. But, although in his profession a decisive, quick-thinking, resourceful man, he hesitated. For one thing, her posture was not encouraging: back straight, head up, arms folded. Slightly raised lower eyelids implied wary suspicion, belying her friendly smile. To Reith her stance said "Let's be friends, but only friends!"

He took refuge in a change of subject. "Lish, shouldn't I read the script of the movie, to find out where to take your people? I'm new to this—"

"Fergus dear, I'm way ahead of you. While you were reveling in the Nova Iorque, I ran off a copy." She darted into her room and, returning, thrust a bulky envelope into his hands. "Here you are!"

Reith said: "Good night, Lish. Remember, my door is never locked against you."

He watched to see if she would react to the hint; but all she said was: "Good night, Fergus." She gave him a brief, cousinly kiss and vanished into her room; Reith heard the snick of the bolt.

Reith tried to sleep; but the harder he tried, the more memories tumbled into his brain. He recalled events he had not thought about in years: the narrow escapes with Alicia; the times he and she had saved each other's lives; the nights of passion ... He also remembered their quarrels and Alicia's shrieking tantrums; her stunning him with a frying pan during their last dispute ...

Questions whirled through his brain. Had she changed? She did seem different—less aggressive and argumentative; more reserved and self-controlled.

What did he want? Wife, mistress, light love, platonic friend, or capable business associate? What were her expectations? Might she lead him on to enjoy the revenge of refusing him, as he had refused her? Could anyone retain strong feelings, pro or contra, towards another for twenty years, despite a complete lack of contact? Could there still be a spark of mutual love, waiting to be fanned into flame? No, no! Old hostilities had surely quenched that fire for good ...

To calm his emotions, Reith turned up the oil lamp, hauled out the script, and settled himself to read. The script stirred him up almost as much as thoughts of Alicia. It enraged him that anyone should be paid handsomely to write such bilge. The scenario was false to the character and ways of life of the Krishnan hominoids. Worse, it bored. Before the final scene, Reith fell asleep with the lamp still lit.