FAITHFUL TO THEE, TERRA, IN OUR FASHION

KEEBY VAAAAL YA! HE-E-E-ERE THEY COME!

The best-known cry in Galactica floated up through Peter Christmass office window. The big brown man let his eyes stray from the tridi to the scene below.

A gaggle of little dinosaurs were streaking by the stands, their jeweled hides flashing in the light of Raceworlds morning. Raceworld! Christmass jaw softened briefly before he turned back to his visitor, who was furling and unfurling himself irritably on the courtesy perch.

But is not flying! On Xemos we do not call this flying!

Mr. Porridan, Christmas said, its not a question of being able to fly well, to fly over mountains and so on. If you wish to enter your animals in the Non-Flying Avian classes, they must not fly at all. No flapping, no gliding even for a few steps. Look at that fellow there!

He pointed to the tridi where an ostrich-sized fowl was brandishing his pinions and lofting himself easily as he pranced about. Porridans vaguely human face took on an insulted air, like a dog rejecting inferior biscuits.

Mr. Porridan, do you realize what would happen if your entry did that during a race? First, it would be disqualified, and you would lose your entry fee and costs, not to mention what Raceworld would lose in compensating the mutuels. Second, you would undoubtedly get a judgment for fouling and damages by some of the other contestants, which would come out of your planetary, bond. Thirdly, somebody might get hurt, which means really expensive reparations, and of course I, as Chief Steward, would be responsible for an improper ruling. That happened once a long while back when we werent so careful. An entry with hidden inflatable vanes got into the NFA sulky class and the cursed thing took off over the finish linewith the sulkyand not only injured three other drivers but crashed in the stands. Nearly five million credits to settle that one…. Excuse me a moment.

He turned to his chiming intercom.

Yes, Hal? Fine, Ill lift the quarantine right away. No, for Solsake, Hal, Ive told you a jillion tunes better ten false alarms than one epizootic. You call em as you see em, Ill back you if I have to isolate every animal on the planet. Wait, HalI have a problem with an NFA entry thats going to need belly straps. The planet rep claims itll upset his birds, they wont run with straps. His birds are coming in on MT today about second period. Can you meet the rep there and work something out? Porridanno, P as in problem. From Xemos Three, right? Thanks, Hal.

That was our chief veterinarian, Mr. PorridanDoctor Lament. La-mont. He will meet you when your birds come through and I know he will find a solutionPorridan was glaring through his dewlapswhich will permit your splendid animals to display their magnificent running ability before the eyes of the whole galaxy, Christmas added hopefully. Theyre great birds, Mr. Porridan. Believe me, Raceworld wants to show them at their best as much as you do.

We of the poor backward worlds meet with humiliations from the so-called fair play of the Galactic Imperialists! Porridan wailed. Because we are poor you insult our culture!

He flung his shoulder membranes over his head, dislodging several diamond ear-clips which rolled on the floor. Christmas helped retrieve them.

After Porridan had counted them, Christmas said, Theres one other little matter, sir. The bursar is rather puzzled over an entry in your cost sheet. Could you give us some clarification on the, ah, auxiliary animals item?

But we were guaranteed free transport, Porridan shrilled. Are we now to be cheated here, too?

Not at all, Mr. Porridan, please calm yourself. As you said, Gal Q offers free matter transport and lodging to any planet wishing to send an entry to Raceworld, up to a certain mass. That includes the competing annuals, plus trainers, jockeyes or drivers, veterinary and so on, plus food and supplies as appropriate. The auxiliary animals category is intended to cover certain cases where the racers require other animals, such as their young, or biological symbiotes, or even mascots or imprinted animals, for their well-being. But we do require a word of explanation when the shipment runs as high as yoursthat is, two hundred auxiliaries. Just what are these extra animals, Mr. Porridan?

Porridan had furled himself so that only his large aggrieved eyes were visible.

Female animals, he said coldy.

Oh, but I see some of your racing birds are female… what species are these other females?

Porridan shrugged. Just females.

You mean female Zemosians? Like you?

Females are not people!

In other words, these females are not for the animals but for the training staff, right? But you have only twenty male personnel. Do these females perform any service in connection with the racing animals?

Of course not. What could they do?

I see. Mr. Porridan, I deplore having to pry like this, but you must see this is a fantastic expense to Gal Q. Transporting mass from your position at the rim is

Ah! Again you insult us because we are far away and backward!

Mr. Porridan, no one is insulting you. Its a question of fair play. What would all the other planetary teams say if we let you bring in ten females for every trainer and driver?

Ten females are not for trainers and drivers! Porridan squealed. Refurling himself furiously, he started for the door. You insult even our inmost life! Xemosian females are not for discussion. The Treaty of Xemos can be reopened! Poor as we are, we can still die for our honor!

Mr. Porridan, wait!

The door slammed. Christmas blew an imaginary fly off his blunt nose, pushed one hand through his reddish wool and stabbed his male secretarys signal.

Im here, PC, said a cheerful otterlike being, from the side door.

Dana, tell the Secretariat that Xemos has blown his wig again and they better get someone after him to oil him down. Lament will take care of the entry ruling, but get Tanya onto the sex situation on Xemosespecially the standard mating ratios and female status. Porridan claims their females arent people and he needs a couple of hundred of them, mostly for the team chiefs, I gather. Im sure its a phony, but check it out, will you?… Whats that?

The ruling on the squid propellant situation, PC. We finally got agreement: all contestants will submit to inksac removal, but riders must wear masks capable of filtering legitimate metabolic products. We do the chem-anal.

How about the I.Q. business? Are those Deneb squids animals, or do they go over to Galsports as people?

Not yet clear, PC. We could get a ruling on the squids, but a mammalian group has injected itself into the question. They claim any contestant capable of using a stopwatch isnt an animal.

Whose animals are using stopwatches?

That Flangian outfit. Light equinoids.

Flange? Wait, thats one of the teams in the class thats been having so many long-shot wins. The Stat people from Mutuel put me onto it last night. Theyve had Lament running covert metabolic tests on the whole field

He punched his intercom savagely, and the mournful face of his security chief came on.

Kurtis? Can you put a total snoop on the Flange delegation right away? Light horses. Yes, especially I want the stables, the animals. Sound, pictures, even smells if you have to. FTL priority around the clock until we get something. Oh, just a hunch, but it could be nastythats right, like the old Pyrrhoxa mess. You know what to look for. Thanks, Kurt.

Christmas sighed. The reputation of Raceworld, Inc.Inc. for Incorruptiblerested heavy on his shoulders.

Theres another thing, said Dana, thoughtfully flicking a black tongue around his beautiful cream muzzle. Maybe nothing to it, but that new Ankru team that started yesterday has won two of their first three starts. All in different classes. One herbiamph, a carnimammal and an N.F.A. The N.F.A. came in second.

Dana, your hunches are golden. Ill never forget that alleged herbivore that tried to eat our starter…. Whens Ankru running next?

Just coming up, PC. Giant armored reps on the main track.

Could I sneak down and take a look?

Danas bristles twitched at the big humans cublike eagerness.

Okay, but remember the Gal Q conference in half a unit, PC. Please keep your caller open.

Christmas blew joyfully as he wrestled the commocollar onto his thick neck and stepped out onto the balcony to mount his airsled. Raceworld! His Raceworld. His nose wrinkled in the spicy breeze from a thousand racetracks on which ran, hopped, flopped, swam, slithered, humped, darted and thundered the racing beasts of a million planets. Raceworld the perfect planet, turning stately through equal hours of flawless day and balmy floodlit night. Her utterly predictable climate graded smoothly from equator to pole, offering every oxygen-breather its natural optimum.

Directly in front of Christmass equatorial headquarters lay the major track for the most spectacular of all racesthe gaint armored reptiles, general galaxy favorites. Other hot-climate beasts ran here too: big cats, savannah ungulates, and giant insects and arachnoids. On his left lay the mountain ranges that held the canyons, pylons and airborn stands of the flighted races. On his right glittered the sea world where aquatic forms competed. Beyond the track in front was a great hotel and recreation complex, and beyond that, stretching around the planets curve, lay the special-atomosphere domes and exotic courses where indescribable creatures met to dig or spin or spit or display whatever competitive frenzy their home worlds had developed as sport. All for the honor of those home worldsand incidentally to the honor and profit of Raceworld and its Solterran staff.

Christmas cast an eye up to the commo satellitethe eyes of the galaxy are on you!and checked his chronometer. The vast mutuel boards were showing a Myrian entry as favorite. He skimmed past them to land by the backstretch rail where the giant reptiles were warming up, making the ground quake. The polished bodies blazed their riders almost invisible behind fantastically assorted shoulder-plates.

Great sight, isnt it, sir?

Christmas recognized the tall ebony boy as one of Hal Laments veterinary interns. They leaned together on the rail to watch a rider trying to control his mounts tendency to thrash a ten-ton tail. The rider, an arthropod type from around Sirius, Christmas guessed, worked feverishly with his sting-straps on the creatures hind brain. Christmas main interest, the Ankru entry, was a low-slung, nondescript red beast whose huge wither-fans concealed his jockey.

The first brush was over, and the field began to fall in behind the tremendous scaffolds of the traveling start gate.

THE FIELD IS IN MOTION! A roar came from the stands. Galaxy-wide betting was always heavy for this one.

The arthopod went by in pole position, still making adjustments. Number Two was the Myrian favorite, a towering green monster with a slobbering trunk of a head thirty feet off the ground. Its rider gleamed white as they passedapparently a human girl.

Dust hid the rest, and Christmas headed back to the finish-line, circling the boards at ground level since it was illegal to fly during a race. He was grinning at himself for pretending to check up in person when the tridi tapes would show him every detail.

A confused booming filled the air as the field came around the last turn. The green Myrian was in the lead, fighting off the bid of a yellow monster with a ten-foot frill on its jaws. Red Ankru was holding back in midfield; Christmas could see steam as the rider sprayed coolant on its rump.

The crowd was rising and howling, the ground thrummed under the punishment of twenty-ton drumsticks. Scales flashed through the dust kicked up by the great splay feet. In the glitter and rush of enormous bodies, Christmas saw the Myrian girl going to her heat-straps. The yellow challenger had faded and now a long brown neck was lunging up. Her green behemoth began to pull ahead and the field was almost past when he caught the boom-boom-boom of an animal coming up fast on the outside. It was red Ankru, leveled out to rocket speed. The stands explodedthe girl worked madlybut the low red monster barreled ahead across the line, its rider popping up and down like a ping-pong ball between the thrashing withers. Christmas sledded along for a closer look.

Sir! Sir! Look outthe girlstop her!

The voice of the young intern blasted his collar. Christmas turned, saw the green saurian now riderless, its long neck bent to a figure in the dust. The girls pale arms were up and between them was a glint of metal. Christmas lobbed his sled over the rail and tumbled off with a fist around her wrists.

She didnt struggle. Her eyes opened to stare up wildly at him, her mouth ceased whispering and fell open too. Her wrists were like icy twigs. Christmas gently disengaged her three-foot razor-bright sword.

No, no, no, he told her, urging her up. She rose shakilyeight feet tall skinny and naked as a fork, except for a crimson sword-belt around her navel. She had no body hair, and one breast had been removed.

Oy ban scred warro vergan fMyria! she protested, reaching for the sword.

Anybody know what shes saying? Christmas fended her off.

I think she says shes a sacred warrior virgin from Myria, the young intern panted. She has to kill herself because she lost the race.

Oh, now, she cant do that. Tell her she must ride in other races and win.

Oy ban scred warro vergan fMyria, the girl repeated.

Ser Nisrair from Gal Q is on the way in, said Danas voice in his collar.

YouDoctor whats-your-nameOoloolulloolah?get her over to Infirmary, will you?

As he turned to go the girl screamed like a peahen and grabbed for the sword. Instinctively he raised it overhead. Bystanders goggled and backed away from the odd tableau.

You can have it if you swear not to harm yourself. Tell her, Doc, make her swear, right?

The girl knelt and began to recite in a high treble.

Ser Nisrair is here, PC, said his collar. Christmas peeled her arms off his knees, tossed the sword to the intern and took off in a zoom for the balcony. He stepped into his office just as Dana was ushering the Gal Q liaison officer through the king-sized folding doors. Ser Nisrairs steel-blue carapace towered over Christmas.

Good morning Peter, Nisrair intoned melodiously, retracting his lower limbs so that he rested on his edge at man-height. Like all the Gal Center people he exuded a firm benevolence which made Christmas mildly twitchy.

Hi, Ser. How are the Magellans doing? I take it thats what you came to discuss?

Very true, Peter, beamed Nisrair, as though he were giving Christmas an A in fractions. We are, as you know, showing them over Raceworld since they expressed an interest during their recent tour of Galactic Center.

Primitive of them, Christmas murmured. He knew Gal Center took a slightly patronizing view of Raceworldour charming toyalthough they were keenly aware of Raceworlds use in helping cement the million-planet federation.

What have they seen?

We took them to North Pole yesterday for Communications and the galactic computer. Surprisingly, all four of Nisrairs eyestalks turned on Christmas. It is a little difficult, Peter…. Nothing seems to interest them. They are so very different… and it is so very important that we establish at least a little rapport.

His antennae were in rigid formal position. Christmas realized the big alien was actually worried.

Something here is bound to tickle them, Ser. Hasnt it worked on every visitor so far? Even if theyre from another galaxy, they cant be all that different. So the hardware didnt fascinate them; maybe the economics of the galactic betting system will. Or the Secretariats display of xenobiology and alien housekeeping. After all, our galaxy is bigger than the Clouds; the sheer size and range of it all has to be impressive.

Nisrairs antennae were still rigid; Christmas went on.

If that fails, theres always the psy-math boys down at Pole South, forecasting the results of their own forecasts. Remember, thats what finally lured those dematerialized clots from the Horsehead into the Federation?

I hope so, Peter… they are very powerful, you know. Their equipmentvery advanced.

Big man and bigger coleopteran eyed each other in wordless unity. Neither wanted to speak of the possibility of intergalactic hostility resulting from First Contact.

Ill do anything I can, Ser, you know that.

I was going to say… if they express some deske, no matter how unorthodox

Anything at all, Ser. They can break all the rules.

Thank you. Ser hoisted his bulk and paused before the balcony on his way out. Delightful, he murmured, again avuncularly bland. Always an idyllic interlude to visit here. You lead an Arcadian life, Peter.

Kurtis called, PC, said Dana, as usual slipping in before Christmas could signal. He has the net on the Flange team going, but theres nothing to report yet except that the drivers seem to be playing some game with their toes.

How Arcadian, Christmas grunted.

Also, theres a complaint from one of the big cat teams. They claim the target doesnt look human enough, their breast wont chase it.

Pass that one to Detweiler; thats a Secretariat problem…. Oh! On your Ankru hunch: run me the tridis of all their animals, will you? That giant rep win makes them three out of four nowall in two days. I think youve got something.

The Ankru entries came to his screen; the red archosaur type Christmas had seen, then a burly-legged running bkd, and a tufted cheetah-like affak with a build like a rope slung between two stumps, and finally a slimy-looking tub of a thing which apparently navigated on a broad keel, propelled by paddles.

Thats the herbivorous amphibian, Dana said. The herbiamph opened one yawning end at the camera.

High-gravity builds, Id say, Christmas mused. Call Lament and tell him to run a covert check on their grav compensators for starters. It could be they have found a way to screw up their handicap. Ohand while youre onto him, get that report on the compound life-swarm geehinkus from the Coalsack, will you? Detweilers shop should never have put it in the social insect classes; weve had two complaints of fouling

BOOM! BOO-O-O-O-M-M-M-M! ! ! !

The resounding overhead thunder sent them both jumping for the balcony, to be greeted by a sight they had seen only on historitapesa blazing rocket exhaust wavering down to land beyond the hotels. Christmas stared. Behind him the innercom was yammering.

Unauthorized landing! Repeat, red alert, unidentified alien landing It was the voice of the Gal Q security satellite.

PC! A rockets coming down on my minirodent tracks! screamed a soprano.

Christmas vaulted onto his sled. Get a firescreen over those rats, Dana! He took off, barely noticing that Dana had pushed something into his hand.

As he cleared the hotel domes, he saw the alien ship squatting in a volcano of smoke. The fireboys howled past, foam jets reaching for the intruder. The blaze was plastered down by the time Christmas skidded to a stop. Kurtiss blue prowler whined in behind him. The security chief was whispering orders into his collar. He raised one finger at Christmas without taking his eyes off the alien ship.

The foam around the ship was wriggling. Minirodents, ludicrously befoamed, were dashing in all directions, many without jockeys.

Lily! Lily! Are you all right? Christmas called, and saw his assistant steward rise up from under an overturned stand wiping gobs of foam off her face. The minirodents rushed to her, formed a solid pile around her feet and scrambled onto her shoulders and head.

The aliens port swung down to make a ramp. Three squat figures peered out through the fading smoke. Then a flamboyantly uniformed blond chimpanze strode onto the ramp, tossed his yellow mop out of his eyes, and gave out a ringing ululation ending in an interogative note.

Voders coming in a minute, Kurtis said. Look at those side armswhat the holy galaxy are they, space opera?

The alien caterwauled again. Christmas, realizing he was the senior official there, stepped forward holding up his hand.

On the alien ramp, the stranger stared at him, tossed his head again, and then all three of them ducked back inside. Christmas waited; Gal Q and the Secretary would be there in a minute from the far side of Admin.

There came a siren roar from inside the spaceboat and the three emerged again, wheeling what looked like surrealistic airsleds bigger than themselves and decked with grilles, pipes and streamers. The leader yawped at Christmas, who held up his hand again.

Suddenly all three aliens jammed horned helmets on their heads, sprang onto their machines, and took off in a thundering circle around their ship, as they began doing aerobatics, Secretary Detweilers sled came over the hotel. The aliens zoomed onto him looping and crowding with ear-splitting blasts from their machines.

Kurtis had already taken off in pursuit. Christmas got airborn just in time to see what looked like a laser beam coming from the aliens. Yes! In the name of madness, it was a laser. Detweilers sled had sagged sideways, and Kurtis was throwing up his screens. Christmas put up his own, becoming vaguely aware that he had a minirodent on his head. He gained altitude and gave chase.

The aliens were now circling a cluster of M/T masts and firing at the rigging, but Kurtis was on top of them. Christmas saw him nail one with come-along spray and then miss another, who darted toward Christmas. The thing Dana had given him had turned out to be a hand stunner. Christmas picked off the alien at low power as he went by and saw him go into a long glide to the beach. Kurtis, followed docilely by the come-alonged alien, was , turning tight circles on the last riders tail, forcing him down away from his ship.

Christmas got the minirodents tail out of his eye and started back to the alien boat. Ambulance crews were converging, as Detweilers sled limped in.

Suddenly the last alien doubled and streaked for his ship at ground level, his laser beam looping wildly.

Down! Everybody down! Christmas bellowed, heading the melee. Just as the alien almost gained his ramp he slumped off his machine and fell into the foam. His sled crashed into the ship wall and fell beyond him.

Lily the track steward emerged from under the ramp, making cooing noises to the minirodents clinging to her. On her head, one of the rodent jockeys was bolstering a tiny handgun.

Snedecor got him, PC! Snedecor got him! Lily yelled, wading out.

Kurtis and the now zombie-like alien had landed. The voder crew came up.

Snedecor got him! Lily caroled.

What in creation were they trying? Christmas asked.

The security chief glowered reproachfully at his captive, now being hooked up to the voder.

Well know shortly, he said. Some bunch of flipping primitives who heard we had races, is my guess. Whos Snedecor?

On Lilys head, Snedecor bowed and waved composediy.

Good shooting…. Whats that mouse doing with sidearms?

Old rulingall beings less than nine centims high authorized to carry nonlethal defense, Christmas told him. Hello, Det. Glad youre okay. Well, I guess the rest of this is your job. Let me know the score, Lily, Ive got to get back. Ohhere.

He disengaged the minirodent and handed it over. Did anyone ever tell you you have an idyllic job?

He zoomed for home, pausing to let another lizard race finish before he crossed the tracks. Machines… racing with machines… he muttered, his big shoulders twitching. He floated over the shouts, barks, coos, whistles, the holiday-makers of a million worlds. Dana met him on the balcony with a tray.

Looks good, what is it? Christmas demanded, his nose in a beaker of Infield ale.

Dont ask. Lament sent it. His reward for saving something that broke a leg, he has a freezer full.

I didnt know we had a stunner, Dana.

You dont. I do. Kurtis gave it to me last year. Remember those Altaireans who wanted to duel to the death in your office? Kurt says you have illusions of invulnerability. Danas bristles curled in a grin.

Well, I guess it paid off. Another of your hunches…. Yes, Hal? he said to the intercom. Indeed we did have a little excitement. Howre the rats? Ah, too bad. Rotten shame, who could foresee it? Great idea of yours, putting medication in the firefoam…. Anything on the Aukru grav check yet?

Their gravity compensators are absolutely correct, Lament told him. Right on the nose at one point two. Funny thing, they look like really high gee types to me, too. And Ill tell you another funny thingtheyre exercising some of their animals under double-grav loading. Of course theres no law against adding more gees, but theyre being very quiet about it. Id say you have the answertheres a mistake in the handicapping from Detweilers shop.

That could be ugly, Hal. Who made the mistake, and why?

I hadnt thought of that, Lamont said slowly. He frowned.

Well, its not your screaming baby. How did things go with the Xemos Three birds?

Thank you for nothing, PC. No question, those things fly. I suggested nerve blocks or temporary pinions, and he frothed. We settled on a special strap job after I showed him that other contestants used them. Probably intends to sabotage the strapsbetter put a watch-note on him. But listen, PC, did you know he had glass spurs on those birds as long as your arm? Slice a leg right off, like a saber. We had another scene when I told him theyd have to go. It seems they have some bosom enemy here theyve got to beat, preferably fatally. You better alert the equipment boys. Hes out for mayhem.

Scythes on his chariot wheels like that lot from Orion with the acid jets.

Remember those she-minks who couldnt see why we wouldnt let them dump spikes on the track behind?

The doctor chuckled. Sometimes I think Gal Q is using us to civilize half the delinquents in the galaxy.

Christmas clicked off. His intercom was flashing for the daily staff meeting. Christmas tuned himself in and listened with one ear while going through a batch of rulings Dana had brought in for signature.

Secretary Detweiler was a plump little man with vulnerable eyes, very good at a job Christmas would have loathed. One of his staff began describing plans for celebrating the finish of the giant ice-slug race. The contestants had covered fifty feet in the extraordinary time of six months and were due to cross the finish line tomorrow. Interest in their home system was at fever pitch. The secretariat had arranged tridi FTL coverage from underneath the transparent track, so that viewers could observe the cell-by-cell approach of the slugs feet to the Line.

They dont really locomote, the aide was saying. They grow in front and slough off behind. Fastest moving thing in their system, but of course outsiders arent interested. Id like permission to assemble a small, ah claque, I believe the word is, and perhaps stimulate a little betting. It would help their morale.

Christmas grunted agreement. Detweiler announced plans for making a ceremonial award that evening to the mouse who had shot the alien.

Quite a Little hero, really, the Secretary said. If that lad had got his ship off, Gal Q would have had a messy chase, messy and expensive. Youll come to the presentation, wont you, PC?

Dont I get a wound stripe? Christmas asked. My ear is full of rat-crap. Who were they, Det?

An officially uncontacted system way north of Murillo. Actually theyve been trading with us for some time through Murillo. Apparently they got hold of some obsolete stuff and made it all the way here in that old warp boat. Gal Fed has an M/T mission landing there right now.

The bursar spoke up. Either we or Gal Q are going to have reparations to pay on this. Three valuable animals hurt and all those scent-null tracks to rebuild.

And we have adjustments on the spoiled races, said the Mutuel chief. I think Gal Q should be asked to disseminate word that one doesnt just drop in on Raceworld.

Nor does one race with machines, growled Christmas. There was a moments silence.

Yes. Well, said Detweiler. Now about our main business, the Magellans. Youre getting them almost immediately, you know, PC. I dont know when theyll come to Mutuel and you others, if at all. Frankly, the tour is not working out quite as well as we had hoped. They went through the Secretariat this morning, and among everything else we tried a really beautiful viewing of the complete range of galactic life we service here, with chemicogenetic analyses. You just cant tell how theyre reacting, but Im afraid it was negative. They asked to leave Raceworld tonight. Ser Nisrair is troubled.

Who isnt? asked Commo from Pole North. Ive seen aliens, but these are alien. Two of my techs are under sedation. Did you hear that Galtech hasnt been able to unscrew half the junk in that spook-boat they came in? Your viewing may have only whetted their appetites for dinner, Det. Or offended their sense of neatness, like finding out your neighbors house is full of vermin. The Clouds are too damn close.

Well, we just have to do what we can, Detweiler said, determinedly brisk. Anything else?

Sorry to add to the gloom, Christmas spoke up. This concerns Mutuel, too. That new Ankru team has won four out of five events and theyre only carrying a one point two gees handicap. Lamont has an idea this isnt enough by half. So do I. Check this out fast, Det, will you? I dont need to go into the implications.

Ill get right on it. Detweiler looked startled. The Mutuel chief laid his hand over his eyes and groaned.

Cant you hold up their races, PC? Great flying wormhole, the adjustments, the compensations He was gesturing violently at somebody offscreen.

Not solid enough, Christmas told him.

Detweiler signed off with a sick look in his eyes. He knew what Christmas meant.

Alone, Christmas rubbed his neck, turning to the window. The announcers chants rang out, and a dozen rhino-type creatures, their tails like quivering flagpoles over their laboring rumps, padded behind the starters gate.

Christmas smiled automatically, but somehow the magic had ebbed. He knewall of them knewwhat the magic was. It wasnt the clamor of the stands, or the rolling coffers of Mutuel, or the rhinos horn-down charge across the finish, the silks of planets a thousand light-years apart flying from their tails. The magic invested those things, but it was not of them. And it was threatened.

His outercom chimed and cleared to show the bony black face of the young vet.

Sir, the infirmary wouldnt keep herthat, ah, young lady from Myria, I mean, and she cant go back to her team. They insist that she kill herself or theyll do it for her.

Oh, for Solsake! Weve got our hands full right now. Take charge of her for a while, will you Doctor? Stick with her, show her around…. I know youre a veterinarian. Refer Lamont to me…. Well, take the sword away from her. And get some pants on her, will you? She looks horrible…. Why shouldnt virgins on Myria wear pants? Oh, never minddo anything you can, right?

Ser Nisrair and the Magellans are on their way up, PC, said Danas voice.

He stood to greet them as the big folding doors swung wide.

Looming beside Nisrair stood two coal-black sinuous shapes as tall as he, topped with dead-white triangular heads like bleached horse-skulls.

Christmas bowed and stood watching while Nisrair introduced them. The Magellans never moved. Their long skull-faces turned on him, eyeless, expressionless. Christmas, like most of the galaxy, had seen the vast news coverage that announced First Contact, but he was not prepared for their unnerving aliennes in the flesh… or whatever they were. Sourceless disquiet gripped him; he suspected they were emanating a subsonic field.

The Magellans voder crackled suddenly, interrupting Nisrair.

You are the (?) juridical (?) ethical organ, it said tonelessly. Christmas couldnt tell which one was using it.

Thats right, he said to the blank skull-eyes. It is my job to see that the fairest possible rules are set for all contestants, and to enforce them in detail and in spirit. When some condition affects contestants unequally, we work out new rules by unanimous agreement if possible. If not, my word is finalsorry I didnt get that.

Query your statement re spirit, repeated the voder.

Oh! I meant that we do not allow the technical wording of a rule to work against the intent to deal equally fairly with all. We define an equal chance as conditions as close as possible to those on the contestants home planets; for example, to compensate for different gravities we have a handicapping device

Spirit the voder muttered unintelligibly. The two horse-skulls glared down at him unmoving.

You have great power here, the voder went on. You could affect many contests without (?) detection (?) supervision for your own profit. Query you do not do so. Query your identity.

Christmas glanced at Ser Nisrair. Hadnt he briefed them? He saw a worry-helix in one of the Gal Q officers tendrils.

Why, like everyone hereeveryone on the staff I meanIm a Solterran, Christmas said stiffly. I assume you were informed that Solterrans originated and run Raceworld.

Peculation (?) speculation (?) the voder gobbled. Evidently the alien semantics were giving Central Computer a hard time. Then it said clearly, Query there is no illegal manipulation for profit.

Christmas said nothing.

Deception, in a system of this sort, can be denned simply as entropy, Ser Nisrair took over smoothly. And of course, entropy, or degradation of order, is avoided by all civilized beings, since no local increase in complexity can offset entropic effects in the larger matrix. We see three main entropic potentials in the Raceworld system. First, external parasitismattempts at a take-over from without. You have viewed the galactic security force which guards against this. Second, attempts by the contestants to subvert portions of the system for individual or planetary benefit. The Steward here functions to prevent this, with the aid of his own security staff and such outside help as continuous probability monitoring from Mutuel. Thirdly, there is the possibility of corruption of the system by its own organizing elements, that is, by the Solterrans themselves. This is highly unlikely, as I indicated earlierperhaps too brieflyfirst because of the high value placed upon honesty and fair play in the Solterrans own value system, in which they are indoctrinated from infancy as managers of Raceworld, secondly because the Solterrans themselves insist upon a program of periodic testing conducted by galactic experts in combination with a rotating panel from neutral planets. And of course we have tried to meet all their material needshavent we, Peter?

A pause in which Christmas could hear the voder whispering to the Magellans.

We will observe, the voder said. Alone.

Nisrairs antennae, which had straightened out during his speech, kinked again. You wish me to leave? he asked.

You mean, stay here and watch our normal operations? asked Christmas.

Yes.

Well, certainly. Christmas found he was speaking through clenched teeth and flexed his jaw. Glad to have you. Make yourselves comfortable. Would you like, ah, chairs? Resting surfaces?

The Magellans rippled into sudden violent motion and then stopped abruptly. They were now standing behind Christmass off shoulder.

Proceed, said the voder.

Right, grated Christmas. He rang for Dana and bowed to Ser Nisrair, who allowed himself to be unshered out, antennae rigid.

All right, Dana, Im open for business. Our guests are staying to observe. Whats come in?

A complaint has been filed by Betelgeuse system. Only a slight starchiness about the whiskers betrayed Danas awareness of the apparitions looming behind Christmas. They have a team of giant bore-worms, and they claim their entry was fouled by striking tunnels left by a previous race.

Christmas grunted. Those cursed worms have gnawed up that whole mountain range. Allow the claim, notify Mutuel, and tell the Secretariat we need some new mountains, theyre going to devastate the planet. Waitask Detweiler if Gal Q could move in an asteroid for all those excavation contests. Theres mining over in the next system, maybe they can shove us a rock or two. Det should have thought of that.

To the presences behind he added, This is a just claim against Raceworld for improper track conditions and must be allowed. Those who bet on the affected team will be compensated.

We understand your language, the voder said hollowly.

Kurtis came on the intercome. As the screen lit, Christmas realized that the aliens had chosen to stand where no viewer would pick them up.

Your Flangians, PC. Its Pyrrhoxa all over again. Their drivers are nothing more than monkeys, the horses were training them. We caught the horses cold laying out a ploy for the next race. Their own odds were too short so they were fixing to have a long shot from Fitfat win. They actually passed their betting instructions to one of my boys. They were doing it through a spican food-handler. They had him terrorized.

Mutuel will go up the wall on this one, Kurt; theyve been in a lot of races. For the Magellans benefit Christmas added, Of course they will have to reimburse all bettors, probably with damages. Thank our stars those light equities arent too popular. Give Detweiler the word, will you?

Its lucky they went for the big odds so openly, Kurtis said. If they hadnt been so greedy they might have had a longer run. Well, thats horses for you.

Christmas flinched and cut him off.

Dana looked up from his own commocollar.

Ankru has just won another one, PC.

Christmas nodded slowly. Holding his fingers on Detweilers channel, he swung around to the Magellans. I am now going to query the Secretary on a very serious case, he told them. A team from ,a planet called Ankru appears to have been assigned too light a gravity handicap, probably due to an error in the original schedules made up the Secretarys office. The team has of course been winning in several different class events. He swung back, trying to shake off the black weirdness.

Anything on Ankru yet, Det?

The gravity is absolutely correct at one-point-two gee, PC, Detweiler told him gravely. According to both our own star synopsis and the Gal Q master directory.

Cant betheyre still winning. Four out of five now. Besideshave you seen the brutes?

Detweiler nodded perplexedly. Suddenly both he and Christmas started to speak at once, the Secretarys tenor riding over Christmass rumble.

Ambimass! he exclaimed. That could be itIll signal Center for the full planetary specs!

But said Christmas to the empty screen. The office door lit up.

Visiting planetary minister, PC, Dana told him. Hes from somewhere I cant pronounce in Sector 90. Insists on talking to you in person, something about their age-weight handicap.

The caller ambled in, an immense hump of shell with a sad, tapir-like face emerging at knee-height. He began hooting in nearly incomprehensible Galactic, with much ritual courtesy. Christmas waved Dana over to interpret.

The problem is that their entry is now fifteen hundred Standard years old, and the age handicaps gone asymptotic.

How long do your animals live? Christmas asked.

Hes not sure, Dana translated. This particular animal has been winning races for over a milleniumhe races every twenty yearsand the home system expects him to go on indefinitely, I gather. They dont have any more right now, breeding is slow. With no weight handicap differential anymore, its getting tough. Theyre up against a much younger similar form from a new system, and planetary prestige is at stake.

I recall him now, hes a nice old boy. But we cant bugger up the whole handicap system. Even anti-grav wouldnt help, the animal would lose traction. Ask him if hed be satisfied to switch over to noncompetitive exhibition, with choice of pace-setters, and lots of fanfareoldest living champion, and all that?

Dana and the alien hooted at length. Behind Christmas the aliens stood motionless, expressionless, exuding their faint aroma of disquiet.

I think he says yes, Dana reported. I told him the Secretary will

The office door burst open and a long white figure leaped in, drew itself up to eight feet of naked girl, rounded the desk and fell prone with a crash at Christmass feet. Christmas curled up his toes as he felt cold steel sliding under them. Tapir-face hooted in alarm and backed into the Magellans, who did not move. He moaned louder and backed off into Dana. The office door was jammed with people, topped by the interns dark face.

What theyou, Doctor Ooloothis is no place Christmas yelped.

She got away from me, sir, through the ladies latrine. She kept saying she was your slave since you saved her life and she had to swear fealty or something.

The girl nodded and patted his instep.

She says now she must toil for youshe has no home.

But what can she do? Has she ever seen a computer?

She says she is a warrior.

Yes, I know…. Hold it a minute, Det! he shouted at his flashing intercom. Ah1 right, young lady, youve sworn fealty. Now you go along with Dr. Ooloo and theyll find you something to do. Find anything! Show her how to run the elevator! Now get out of here!

He turned to bow deeply to the shaken tapir-faced one as Dana got them out. From the screen, Detweilers face watched in puzzlement until Christmas gave him the all-clear.

We were right, PC! Detweiler burst out. Ankrus a wildly oblate spheroid; theyve got nearly three gee at the equator. That one-point-two figure was an average. Obviously theyve been sending animals from their heavy zone.

But in that case, shouldnt the specs have the letter V after it for variable?

Yes, it should, but it doesnt. Here, look at the Directory read out. Same in our synopsis, of course.

Recent date on that paragraph, Christmas said thoughtfully. Just about the tune Ankru applied, wasnt it?

Why yes, its a change notice. They come out periodically from Gal Comp by FTL and are automatically transcribed here… wait, let me see if we still have the old paragraph. He dived offscreen, to return noticeably pale. The old directory paragraph has been destroyed, but I found it in my personal synopsis. The V was there, before the change. What could have happened?

Seems to me theres three possibilities, said Christmas. Gal Comp mistransmitted, the FTL garbled, or something went wrong with the transcriber in your office.

Gal Comp has never sent a mis-read, Peter. Detweiler seldom used his given name. You know the Directory is the galaxy bible for navigation, administration, everything; they have a fantastic technical control on it. The Directory is literally error-free. Oh, the transmission could garble, of course, but they do triple redundancy with a discrepancy signal. For one letter alone to fall out and the warning to fail too would be, well, just about the fifty million monkeys. And the transcriber in our office is automatic too. It would be almost impossible for it to miss one symbol in an otherwise correct paragraph Detweilers voice died.

Unless somebody tampered with it. Christmas finished for him.

Yes…it could be done. The original read-out is duplicated for the Directory and the synopses. If the process were stopped, a technician could alter the original….

There is a gap in the line too, Peter, I think. The doe eyes were sick, and his face showed angles Christmas had never seen.

The technicians are all our people, said Christmas.

Yes, every one. Peter, Im going to signal Gal Comp to check their master program. Itll take some while. He cut off abruptly.

Christmas sat drumming his desk. Then he shook himself.

Dana, put a hold order on all Ankru races. Either they withdraw or the races are postponed. Handicap error. And tell Kurt to see they dont get off the planet and to monitor any signals. But not to alarm them. And notifyMutuel that results on those already run are now officially invalid.

The Magellan voder crackled startlingly.

Query correct understanding. You now (?) hypothesize (?) imaginatively postulate a Solterran has engaged in deception for gain.

Thats right, Christmas said. He took a deep breath. Only a Solterran could have cut out the V that told the planet was irregular. Once it was out, the way was open for Ankru to bring in their heavies and make a killing. The fact that they entered so many items so fast suggests that there was a plan. Only one of our people would perceive the possibility…. Of course there is a microscopic possibility that there was an outside leader, maybe even from Gal Center, and that our person was intimidated. But it looksno. It cant be. It cannot be.

Query impossibility. Solterrans do not differ from other life.

Christmas jaw worked.

Such (?) ideals (?) systems have been known to fail in our galaxy. Possibility of material riches is very great, the voder probed on.

Whats to gain? Christmas burst out, aware that he was being driven closer to what he would not say. We have everything one could wish, homes, luxury, travelall free.

Possibility of material increment for your home planet is very great.

This is our home planet, Christmas responded mechanically. What was wrong with Ser Nisrair? How could he have failed to brief the Magellans? It was unforgivable. He felt the never-quite-absent ache rising.

Query correct understanding, the voder was a vulture picking at his vitals. You are native of planet Terra in system Sol.

He was going to have to say it. He surged up and strode to the window, his back to the aliens.

There is no living planet of Terra. The Solterrans you have seen here are descendants of small colonies on our moon and a few other places at the time Terra was destroyed… Terra was the only habitable planet in our system.

The ache was hard in his breast now. As a child he had sung There is a dome that we call home, green Terra is no more. Neither he nor his fifteenth grandfather had known green Terra, and no Terran he knew lived in a dome, but the images were deep…. Grim survivors in asteroid bubbles under leaky Marsdome… watching the big ships of Gal Q come poking in to see what was burning up their scintillographs, and to rescue the orphans.

In our galaxy, beings without home planet do not long persist.

Nor here, said Christmas heavily: It was true. Orphan races somehow die out, no one knew quite whyor why the ache never died. Either you kept hold of the ache and lived or you forgot and after a while you werent around any more.

Raceworld is run by the planetless, you see, he said aloud. There is no one outside to profit. Only Solterrans.

Your assistant is not Solterran.

Oh, we take in a few other orphans. Danas people got one ship out of an inter-system war. Doesnt often happen.

Were Danas people going to live with the ache, too? Christmas had never pried behind the cheery brown eyes. Dana was fifth generation. There were still some cubs around.

Query your planet was lost by war. The ghoul-voice bored on relentlessly. Christmas studied the horizon. The scene below him, the announcers callall phantasms now.

No. We blew it up ourselves.

The voder gargled. Such cases especially nonpersistent, it said.

This too was true. Those races who had destroyed their own worlds never lived on long. Except one…. All honor to the suicides, the fratricides, the matricidesthe lost Solterrans who had found their immortality as purveyors of a primitive pleasure to the galaxy.

The voder-vulture was squawking again.

Query you place value on (?) ethics (?) group conduct of dead planet.

Christmas whirled around.

Terra is not dead! he shouted into the white skull-faces. Every civilized race in the galaxy knows Terra! The word Solterran is slang for fairness, for incorruptibility, all over the galaxy! Ask anywhereask in the Center, go to the Rim and ask things that hang by their tailsthey know us. They joke about itthey dont understand itbut they play our game and they use her name! How can Terra be dead when mother fish in the seas teach their young about her?

He caught his breath.

There was nothing like Raceworld before we came. Wethe Terran survivorswe thought of it, planned it, sold it to Gal Center. Were a good piece of their budget now. But with us it is for Terra. How can she be dead when birds that fly in freezing ammonia speak of Terra?

He ran down and the room was silent.

The voder curdled faintly, hushed again. Christmas went back to Ms desk. The black devils had got it out of him.

Query, announced the voder. Christmas had the impression a different Magellan was speaking, but he couldnt care less.

You experience noxious subjective disturbance.

I experience noxious subjective disturbance, yes, Christmas said bleakly. If… if one of us… The whole thing is no good the unique thing…. But it cant be

The minutes dragged by. The aliens spoke no more. Dana came in with some papers, not meeting Christmass eyes; he always monitored the office.

A planetary rep came on the outercom, breezily intent on getting a special ruling in the hopper classes. The rep looked like a kangaroo. Christmas answered him mechanically. In the middle of a complicated point about tail rests, Detweilers signal chimed. Christmas spun away from the kangaroo.

definitely, Peter. Ive seen the master read-in, Detweiler stuttered.

Whats definite?

The V was never transmitted from Cal Comp! Some molecule, I dont knowanyway, its the first mis-read in five Standard centuries; theyre wild. Its theirs, Peter! Its theirs!

Its not us, Christmas said softly. They broke connection. Christmas sat stone-still. Then he slapped his desk hard and whirled on the Magellans.

You see? he shouted. You see? Oh, I should have seen it had to be them. A mechanical process can reverse a unit at random, but motivation acts like a fieldelements dont change until the field does

The kangaroo was spluttering from the screen. Christmas got him mollified. Over his shoulder he heard the Magellans rustling and turned in time to catch a glimpse of crimson rib-flaps opening and closing along the black sides. The voder made an incomprehensible noise. Christmas stared, remembering that there were alien galaxies, and the shadows of unthinkable war. Were they offended? Angry?

A grating sound came from outside the big doors. Dana rushed to fling it open, revealing Ser Nisrair standing eyestalk-to-eyeball with the Myrian girl. The point of her sword was at Nisrairs massive stomach plates. Hubbub arose from the offices beyond.

Let him in and put that knife away! Christmas roared. Who in chaos told you I needed a door-guard? Excuse me, Ser, weve been having problems.

Nisrair stumped in, antennae formal. Three of his eyestalks were trained on the Magellans, one on Christmas. The aliens gave no sign.

The transportation back to Galactic Center which you requested is now ready, Ser Nisrair told them.

No, said the voder.

But said Nisrair. Ah, then, you wish to continue the tour here? We have an interesting demonstration of probability extrapolation prepared for the evening.

No, repeated the voder.

Again there came the crimson rustling.

…Not previously visible, said the voder, and lapsed into unintelligibility. Nisrak swiveled a second eyestalk around to Christmas. Christmas opened his hands in a shrug.

My companion (?) co-traveler is… untranslatable… disturbance. We wish to retire now to consider… garble… what we have seen.

I will escort you at once to the hotel, said Nisrair. Still the aliens did not move.

The voder crackled on for a moment and then said clearly, Technology, communications, mathematics, economics, chemistry, high bit-rate. It made a surprisingly expressive hiccough. The aliens were suddenly in swirling motion to the door.

There they stopped and contorted oddly. One of them stamped hard with black whiplike toes, making a report like a pistol-shot. Everyone jumped. The next second they were receding through the outer office.

Nisrair went after them, one round eyeball still twisted over his shoulder at Christmas.

Dana silently closed the big doors and leaned with his back to them, showing his substantial teeth.

Who knows? Christmas rubbed his head dazedly. Tragedians, maybe. Romantics. Were they crying? Or laughing? Something they wanted, anyway. Gal Q has been killing them with computers and everything so sublime

The gods do not come to earth to see lightning, Dana said. An old saying of my people.

Maybe they werent gods, Christmas said. Maybe they were a couple of old aunties out for a joyride. Or a retired couple who got lost.

He shook off his ghosts.

All right, lets get that unholy Myrian in hereand that Doctor Ooloolullah.

He went to the window, snuffling luxuriously. The magic was back. Dana herded in the gangling humans.

Young ladyno, stay on your feet. Ive got something to tell you. You couldnt go home because you lost the race, right? Well, you didnt lose it, you won it. The animal who came in first has been disqualified; it was running under an inadequate gravity handicap. Do you understand? Tell her, Doctor, she won it fair and square. Now she can go back to Myria in triumph and be a sacred warrior virgin again. Right?

The girl broke into sobs of unmistakable woe.

For Solsake, what now?

She says she cant go home now, sir, becauseuh

Because what?

Sir, you said, do anything

Oy not vergan now! she wailed and collapsed on the interns chest.

She wants to stay here, said the intern. I thought she could work out well with the animals.

She cant stay here, shes got a home. Whats that?

She says theyll disembowel her at home for not being a virgin, the intern said miserably.

Really? Permissive types. Well! Hmm, Dana, do you think she might qualify as a de facto planetless person? Ill buck a request over to Det in the morning; hell have to get cultural certification. All right! You, Doctor, take her to Laments transient billet; she can camp there till we get this straightened out. You, young lady, go with him and do whatever he says, right? You can put your pants on now and that sword goes away, right? No, on your feetin public, anyway. And you, both of you; get out of here and stay out until I call for youif I ever dostarting as of now. Right?

The doors closed.

The drifting fragrance of a cheroot told Christmas that his night deputy had come into the office and was quietly checking through Danas log to see what was pending for the night. Coburg was a stocky white-haired man who had been main track chief until his legs failed.

Should be a quiet night, Christmas told him. You might call Laments office for quarters for a special case, you heard it. And youre bound to get some noise about the Ankru thing. Other than thatIll call in later.

He gazed out to where the floodlights were coming on over plain and mountains, pylons, domes and sea. All were folded in the gold and pastel of Raceworlds perfect evening. One in her infinite series of perfect evenings…. Dana was watching him.

Somehow I feel you and I could do with a small idyll, Christmas said. How about getting your family to join me at Seaworld? Well snatch a prime table by the big shark races and your kids can have themselves a ride.

Well meet you at Freshwater after you keep your appointment at the amphitheater, PC, Dana grinned.

Oh-oh. Christmas glanced guiltily at his timer and went out to the sled. As he floated into the evening a troop of giant wolf-spiders paraded onto the track below him, prancing daintily on twenty-foot legs. The bugle made sweet sounds.

Arcadia, Nisrair had called it. Arcady was a pastoral dream. No, this was a different dreamone that had kept his race alive, of all the orphan races. A bright improbable dream that their ancestors had managed to weave into the galaxys life currents so their children need never wake up and die.

It had even hooked those golems from the Clouds. Christmas chuckled, recalling Ser Nisrairs discomfiture. The poor spooks had been paralyzed by Gal Qs briefing.

Grinning, he turned a long lazy circle toward Admin. Then his grin faded. In his mind was the image of Nisrairs round, receding eye. It had been unforgivable to make him bare his soul that way. How could Nisrair have fallen down so badly in briefing them? He must have been really frantic, Christmas decided; hed never before failed to explain the set-up here to visitors in advance. In fact, hed never before failed at much of anything.

The eye came back, brighter, expressively clinical.

Why, you mealy-mouthed big smart cockroach! Christmas exploded aloud. I should have known!

He whipped the sled savagely over Admin, seeing it all now. That request of Nisrairshe hadnt been asking Christmas to let them press some buttons or fly over a track. He had them figured, he was looking for something to get under their hides with. So he picked the Tragedy of Terra. Played Live.

You soulless big blue bug Christmas noticed startled faces turning toward him as he shot over a recreation deck. Slowly, his jaw came back to normal.

Its his job to get rapport; he got rapport. Christmas grunted. His lips quirked.

Grinning once more, the Steward of Raceworld braked his sled smartly onto the roof of the amphitheater where the Secretary of Raceworld was preparing with all ceremony to award a medal to an intrepid mouse. As he started down the ramp there floated up from behind him the cry, KEEBY VAAAAALYA! and the watchers from a minion planets rose and clamored.

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