B.C. 250: The aeolipile of Hero spun in the temple at Alexandria, hissing softly to itself and blowing jets of steam into the fire-lit dimness. It was only for display, an embryonic turbine which would develop no further for lack of the knowledge that it could be put to work. Fifty light-years away, on the planet he called Ruhannoc, Zerwil the Wise had made an ingenious contraption which could have evolved into a pump or a locomotive engine; but it never did, because it had not occurred to anyone that there was any other source of energy than living muscles. 

A.D. 1495: Leonardo da Vinci regarded his airplane model wistfully, and then laid it aside. It could have flown; Man could have risen even as the birds, save that there was no power plant available. He did not know that there was a planet less than nine light-years away on which they were building efficient internal-combustion engines, and that for several reasons—among them the fact that aerial life had never evolved there—they did not think of using this power to give themselves wings. 

A.D. 1942: The Allied nations were searching with an intensity approaching desperation for a means of detecting the enemy submarines whose wolf packs were harrying their convoys and threatening to snap the thin Atlantic lifeline. Supersonics looked promising, but that was a little-known field in which researchers had to start from the very bottom. Not far away, as Galactic distances go, the people of Sumanor on the planet they called Urish could have told the Allied councillors everything about supersonics. It would have been a fair exchange, for on Urish they had never heard of submarines. 

 

A. D. 2275: The rangy blond man with the somewhat improbable name of Auchinleck Welcome stepped off the sidewalk and strode across the springy, semi-living warmth of the floor toward the arched gateway. Suitably dignified flame-letters danced above it to spell out: 

 

BUREAU OF INTERCULTURAL EXCHANGE

Technical Division

 

But some light-hearted soul had painted a horse on the door and Welcome, not one to stand on dignity, had allowed it to remain, His office was known from Mercury to Minerva as the Horse Traders. He was willing to agree that the description was apt. 

The door opened for him and he walked through the outer office, nodding to the clerks and secretaries at the computers, tape-files, dictoscribes, and the rest of the complex office paraphernalia. A few bars of Waltzing Matilda whistled between his teeth as he entered the inner suite. The receptionist smiled at his greeting and he went by her and through the office of his private secretary, Christine Ernenek. 

" 'Morning," he said, pausing. Despite all the years he had spent in space, there was still a hint of Australian twang in his speech. "How's life?" 

"Just fine, Auch," the Greenlander answered. "I think you have a busy day lined up." 

"Who's first?" 

She glanced at her memotab. "The little duck from Arcturus. Robotics, you know. Have you seen him yet?" 

"No, too busy. He'll have been going through the usual processing first, anyway." Welcome sighed. "When will Health get it through their heads that Man hasn't caught an extraterrestrial disease yet?" 

"There's always the first time, Auch. And then the diplomats and so on have to see him. He is a sort of ambassador, after all." 

"I know, I know." Welcome nodded impatiently and fumbled out a battered corncob pipe and began stuffing it. Christine had been in the office longer than he; he'd only been given the job a month ago, because of his engineering work on Freyja. A flicker of eagerness kindled in him. "This robotics stuff may turn out to be one of our biggest hauls." 

"Maybe so." Christine giggled. "He's cute, that duck." Glancing at the tab again: "Then, of course, you're still negotiating with Vega, Sirius and Procyon. Oh, yes, and a Centaurian." 

"What?" Welcome almost dropped his pipe. 

"A Centaurian. Alpha A III, from the clan of Brogu, continent of Almerik, name of Helmung. He wants spaceships and atomic energy in exchange for witchcraft." 

"Oh, no!" 

"The main office said for you to see him, anyway. He seems to have special abilities. Well, you'll find out." Christine grinned with friendly malice. "Good luck." 

 

WELCOME shrugged and went on into his own office. You had to take the bad with the good, he supposed. There had, been the tentacled monster from Van Maanen's Star who had grown very indignant on learning that Earth didn't care to trade the null-null drive for a system of astrology which, taking Galactic drift into account, was guaranteed infallible. But against that you had to balance the Zarbadian selective-killing process; with a little more work, that device should be able to annihilate any disease germ just by putting the patient under a force generator. And at the present moment, the envoys from Procyon and Vega—possibly the one from Arcturus, too— were carrying portfolios which meant revolutionary technological advances for Earth. 

When it took more than four years objective time to reach even the nearest star—however short the interval was subjectively for those on board the spaceship—the traditional cargoes became valueless. No mineral, no material treasure whatever, was worth the cost of such hauling. Nor was there any special reason these days for humans to emigrate. But the intangibles of knowledge —that was another matter. You could well afford to spend a few megacredits and decades, if it meant learning a technology your race might not otherwise master for a thousand years. 

And Earth had the only intercultural clearing house in the Galaxy. They still have to come to us, even if we are the ones who haul them here and back. I just park myself and wait. 

Welcome sat down, feeling the sensuous flow of the chair as it modeled itself to his angular contours, and let his eyes rove the office. It was a big room, tastefully decorated in the Neoflamboyant style, a broad window opening on the jagged view of Luna beyond the dome. It was near dawn, there was a glare on the highest peaks shouldering above the horizon, but Earth still dominated a heaven full of stars. He glanced at the planet, thinking of his family in Sydney. They were visiting there. It wasn't fair to children, keeping them on Luna all the time; they ought to have some sea and open sky. 

Well, work to do. 

 

ARCTURUS — Two planets with intelligent natives, of which only one group had more than a primitive technology, Welcome recalled. Those were a friendly race, anxious to please, and the three expeditions there had all returned quite excited about the cybernetic advances of the leading nation. So now the Arcturian ducks had come to swap horses. Welcome decided that he would get some rather low-pressure salesmanship; after all, the Arcturians couldn't be sure how much humanity already knew, and they were not an agressive breed. 

Still, when you met a people who weren't human to begin with, and had a different cultural pattern to boot, you never knew what to expect. That was the reason for the informal basis on which the Horse Traders were allowed to operate, and their chief's nearly absolute power to drive bargains. But God help him if he made a mistake! 

Christine's voice came over the intercom, jarring him to full awareness: "The envoy Rappapa of Kwillitch, planet Arcturus V, to see you, Freeman Welcome." There was a confused noise in the background, and he thought her voice held an uncontrollable laughter. 

"Send him in, please." 

Welcome stood up as the door opened. Since notions of courtesy varied fantastically from world to world, he had decided to stick by Terrestrial conventions. 

"HUP-two-three-four ! HUP-two-three-four! HUP-two-three-four!" 

Welcome thought briefly and wildly that he must be dreaming. A small regiment of dolls was entering his office. 

No, not dolls—robots, shiny humanoid robots five inches high. They goosestepped in perfect marching order, swinging their arms in unison, accompanied by tanks and helicopters built to scale. Behind them, quacking his shrill commands, was the Arcturian. He was of ostrichlike shape, some four feet tall, blue-feathered and crested; instead of wings, he had skinny four-fingered arms carrying a large box, and his head was big and round, popeyed, with a flexible bill. 

 



 

"HUP-two-three-four! HUP-two -three -four ! Com-pan-ee — HALT ! Ri-i-ight—FACE! Present—ARMS!" 

 

THE toy soldiers halted, wheeled, and snapped to attention. A helicopter buzzed watchfully over Welcome's head. It was about, the size of a pigeon. 

"How do you do, how do you do, noble sir?" The Arcturian bowed, touching the floor with his beak. "I trust that you in splendid health find yourself?" 

"Yes," said Welcome faintly. "Excuse me while I pick up my jaw." 

"If I your excellency's magnificent jaw have caused to fall, it is to be of the most apologetic," said the Arcturian unhappily. 

"Never mind," said Welcome. "Please sit down, Freeman Rap-papa. If you wish to," he added hastily; he couldn't remember whether this particular species sat or not. 

"If you will it of indifference find, I will stand in the luminous presence of your excellency," said Rappapa. "Among my greetings-to-you-conveying folk, only nesting females sit." 

"I—well, do you smoke?" Welcome extended a box of cigars. 

"You are to be magnificently thanked," said Rappapa, accepting one. "Whichuwaki!" One of the helicopters swooped down and shot out a flame to light it for him. 

Welcome seated himself. "I take it those are robots." 

"Of a most humble sort, for demonstration purposes alone," said Rappapa. "They are powered by radiation from this control box here, as your excellency is undoubtedly aware. The brain circuits are also herein contained. Each machine has its individual brain, controlling the external body, or any number of brains can be joined in series to produce higher effectiveness." 

 

WELCOME forced himself to be impassive. Inwardly, his heart leaped. If the Arcturians could make a cybernetic setup that compact, what couldn't they do? 

"May I add they can act at individual discretion, within the limits of their basic directives?" said Rappapa eagerly. "Possibly toys or household servants for your superb people?" 

"It seems to me that a house could be built to do everything itself, without needing a special robot," said Welcome. 

"Of a most suredly! These, as I say, are illustrative only. It has insignificantly occurred to me that your splendid spaceships could be given brains of their own, eliminating necessity for crews on those so-long voyages." 

"To be sure, Freeman Rappapa. And control and communications in general—you can doubtless show us a great deal we don't know." 

"It is of a strangeness that you, who so daringly bridged the stars, have not surpassed us in this humble endeavor." 

"Well, it's not so odd, really." Welcome rekindled his pipe. "Many things determine the technological progress of a culture: social need and demand, the general background of knowledge and tradition, the ability of individual researchers within a given field—sheer accident, too, I suppose. My race has gone furthest in developing transportation and energy sources. Your people stayed on their planet, but instead have gone in primarily for robots, automata, computers —cybernetics. On Procyon A III, they're super-biologists, especially in the line of controlled genetics, but lack atomic energy. And so on throughout the Galaxy. It would be strange if the history of any one race had caused it to excel in everything." 

"I am blinded by the clarity of your explanation. Sir, dare I hope that you will find our little skill worthy of consideration?" 

"Indeed you may," said Welcome. "Was there anything in particular you would like to have from us, or do you first want to see what we can offer?" 

"Your incredible process for obtaining atomic energy from the disintegration of any matter whatsoever would prostrate us of Kwillitch with joy." 

 

THE human rubbed his chin. That was certainly a reasonable enough asking price. In fact, his conscience hurt him a bit. 

"I think that can be agreed on," he said blandly. "You have, of course, brought specialized assistants, and plans and textbooks and so on, from which our people can learn what you have to teach them? Good. Then you should designate some of your people to study our energy-conversion techniques. The new hypnopedic system will make it possible for both sides to learn these things rather fast. Of course, it isn't quite that simple. One can't introduce a new science into a vacuum. For example, being told all about nuclear disintegration isn't going to help you unless you already know something about magnetronics. I'll give you a general outline of the course, and would like you to prepare a similar outline dealing with cybernetics, just so each side can know exactly what it is the other has to offer. Then the final agreement can be made and we can proceed to teach each other." 

"That is a scheme of the slyest magnanimity," said Rappapa with innocent enthusiasm. 

"Excellent." Welcome slouched farther back in his chair and went on to social matters. How did the Arcturian party like the quarters which had been prepared for them here in the dome? The food and gravity and air-conditioning were satisfactory? They were enjoying themselves? Tours of Earth would be arranged for them—everything to make the guests from afar feel at home. 

And to disarm them, make them more receptive to our suggestions. Well, why not? When the future of entire planets is involved, naiveté would be criminal. 

Rappapa was charmed and quacked eloquent praises. His party had already seen a good deal of the dome, met the other extraterrestrials currently there, and been lavishly entertained. 

Welcome nodded. There was certainly no rule against the different embassies having contact and perhaps driving their own bargains independently of Earth 

As a matter of fact, such a deal was going on right now. The Sirian knowledge of nucleonics had turned out to be inferior to Earth's, but the Vegan representative—who had come alone—was willing to trade. some of his high-pressure chemistry for it 

Welcome didn't care very much, since he could always get the chemistry from Vega in exchange for something else—or even from Sirius, perhaps. Once a planet—or nation, tribe, clan, individual—had bought a technology, it was their own business what they did with it. A Horse Trader operated between all parties, playing both ends against the middle. 

 

"ON a lower plane than your excellency, I think—" 

Rappapa was interrupted by the buzzing of the intercom. Welcome flipped the switch and Christine shouted half hysterically: "No, you can't go in there. He's busy—Auch, look out! The Sirian—" 

There was a thunderous crash on the door. Rappapa squawked and made a Lunar-gravity leap to cower behind his regiment. The door flew open and Thevorakz of Dzuga, Dominator from Sirius A IV, stalked in, waving his arms and roaring. 

He was a centauroid, with a quadrupedal gray body and a lashing tail. The upper torso, swathed in a black robe and cowl, was almost human; a bristling white walrus mustache concealed the fact that he had no chin. Under a forest of brow, his ruby eyes glared fire, and his ears twitched and his hoofs stamped ominously. 

"You!" he bellowed. "You low thiefing monthter! You thcum! You dominated! I do not like you!" 

Welcome got up, grateful for the expanse of desk between him and the newcomer. "What's the matter, Dominator Thevorakz?" He tried hard to keep his voice level. 

"I thpit my cud on you!" roared Thevorakz. "I foul your floor! I go home to Thiriuth and come back with an army!" 

Christine squeaked in the doorway and sprang aside for the envoy from Vega VII. The gleaming six-foot sphere rolled slowly in on its wheels, laying a mechanical hand on Thevorakz's rump, and the viewer swiveled toward Welcome. It looked uncomfortably like a gun. 

Inside, breathing hydrogen and ammonia at a pressure of incalculable atmospheres, the monster known only as George was staring at the human. His force-filled generator hummed in a sudden crackling silence; if it ever quit, the vehicle would blow up like a gigantic bomb and scatter the dome from here to Copernicus. 

It had been a long, difficult, and expensive proposition to contact the natives of New Jupiter and get one of them to make the trip, but living under such conditions, they had learned things about high-pressure chemistry which men had never imagined. They wanted atomic energy and control circuits in exchange. The first they had gotten from Sirius, the second they had intended to get from Earth. 

Only — 

 

WELCOME swallowed uneasily and put indignation into his voice. "May I ask the meaning of this intrusion? You know very well that I am in conference with the freeman from Arcturus." 

"That amorakz!" shouted the Sirian. "Dithmith him!" 

"Help!" wailed Rappapa. His robots formed a hollow square about him. 

"Calmness, please." George's Voder voice was flat. "I think, Freeman Welcome, you know very well why we have come." 

"No, I don't." 

"You do tho!" roared Thevorakz. 

"I shall detail the matter," said George. "The Sirian group and I reached a bargain, and I educated them as agreed. Naturally, there were many technical data which it would be pointless to memorize, formulas and constants and the like, and I gave them a book of tables. Those tables are the main thing of value which I had to offer, since the basic theory of high-pressure chemistry is already known to you and to Sirius. Dominator Thevorakz put this book in his strongbox last night. This morning the box was open and the book was gone." 

"You don't — no!" gasped Christine. 

"I'm sorry to hear of this." Welcome forced calmness on himself. "The matter will be investigated at once." 

"By you!" bellowed Thevorakz. "And you are the mithbegotten dominted who thtole it!" 

Welcome loosed a calculated anger. "You're insulting not only my personal integrity, but the honor of Earth. You have violated the sacred obligation of a guest to his host. I demand an immediate apology." He stalked forward, swinging his clenched fists at his sides. 

"I will help your excellency," quacked Rappapa. "Company forward! On the double! Huphup-hup-hup-hup!" The robots goosestepped after the man. 

Thevorakz suddenly looked worried. "If I am mithtaken, I will apologize," he mumbled sullenly. "But the book had better be found, and you had better prove you did not take it." 

Welcome turned to George, preferring the chill sanity of the monster. "Do you really think we'd stoop to theft?" 

"I have no opinion in the matter," said the toneless voice. "It would be to your advantage to steal Vega's knowledge and buy something else that we know; thus you would have two technologies in exchange for one. However, the possibility remains that some other of the parties rifled the box. Everyone knew about it." 

"Or that the Sirians did it to blackmail us," said Welcome gauntly. "Or that you did it yourself, George." 

 

HE took an uneasy turn about the room, the tiny robots scampering to avoid his feet. 

"I'm terribly sorry this has happened," he said. "I'll get the dome police on the case immediately. Meanwhile, I wish you would just return to your quarters. I'll notify you as soon as anything happens." 

"I will be waiting," said George, and rolled ponderously out of the office. Thevorakz snorted and stalked after him. Rappapa crawled out from under the desk. 

"A pretty mess!" Welcome realized that he was shaking. "Just what I need to start my job off right!" 

"I am with humble firmness assured that your excellency will on the instant penetrate the depths of all dastardliness," said Rappapa. 

"Um, yes, thanks." Welcome looked sharply at the Arcturian. At least, I suppose I mean thanks. "Sorry you were bothered this way, Freeman Rappapa. If you don't mind, I'll be rather busy now—" 

"Of course. I shall not obtrude." Rappapa lifted his voice. "Compan-ee, ten-SHUN! Form ranks! Right face! Forwaard — MARCH! Hup-two-three, four, hup-two-three-f our, hup-two-three-four—" He marched out of the office trailing his army behind him. 

Christine leaned against the door and looked helplessly at Welcome. 

"Now what?" 

"Now we get to work. Get me Captain M'Gamba." 

 

WHEN the police chief's dark face was on the screen, Welcome explained the situation. M'Gamba frowned. "Bad business, huh?" 

"This is not a Good Thing," quoted Welcome. "You can see the spot we're in. If that book isn't recovered fast, we're going to lose face everywhere in the whole Galaxy. Earth will be branded as a planet of thieves and nobody will care to come here to do his Horse Trading. Sirius could take the lead away from us on that, and you know what an arrogant, opinionated lot they are. Nice people to have as the leading race of our new interstellar culture!" 

"Maybe they did this job themselves, just to discredit us?" 

"I wouldn't put it past 'em. But get busy, will you? You know the line—be tactful, but just as firm as you dare. And, Captain M'Bamba, if we don't settle this affair quick, you and I are both going to be looking for new jobs." 

"And good jobs aren't easy to find these days. All right, Freeman Welcome, we'll blast off on it right away. I'll call you as soon as I have a report." 

Welcome gave Christine a haggard look. She ran a hand through her blue-black hair and regarded him sympathetically. "Tough luck, Auch." 

"For me or for Earth?" he asked bitterly. 

"You, mostly." Her eyes widened. "You don't think this could —lead to war, do you?" 

"Oh, no. The logistics of interstellar warfare and conquest are ridiculous. But it could lead to bad relations with our Galactic neighbors." Welcome knocked the dottle from his pipe and began recharging it. "And you know, Chris, this new culture developing with the null-null drive is an abstract thing, an exchange of information and sympathy, ideas, philosophies — abstracts, not tangibles. Ill feeling now could poison it at the source. I don't know. I just don't know." 

He stared moodily out at Earth. 

 

M'GAMBA'S report came in a couple of hours later, and Welcome frowned as he fitted it into the pattern of knowledge he already had. 

There were a dozen adjoining suites on the fourth sub-level of the dome, adjustable to the conditions of other planets, and the same level held three large clubrooms for the use of guests. Currently, the apartments housed the envoys of five stars: Sirius, Vega, Arcturus, Procyon, and Alpha Centauri. All these groups had been on Luna for periods ranging from several days to three weeks, and had mingled freely in mutual curiosity. Last night the dome's chief, Carlos Petersen, had thrown one of his periodic parties for the guests, and all had attended. The Sirians had come home late and gone directly to sleep, not noticing that their place was robbed until they woke up the next "morning." 

Whoever did the burglary had been confoundedly clever. There was an electronic lock, supposedly burglar-proof, on the outer door of the suite, wired to sound an alarm if anyone tried to break it. It had been opened with no trouble at all. The thief had entered, cut into the strongbox with an energy torch, taken the book, and walked out again, locking the door behind him. 

Welcome scowled. The technique of fooling an electronic lock was something beyond the science of Earth. 

Of course, Thevorakz himself, or one of his underlings, might have raided the box and hidden the book. 

"The torch could have been taken from any of the workshops on the fifth sub-level," said M'Gamba over the screen. "They're open all the time, you know, for the use of anyone who has to build a model or something. The thief need only have taken the torch, used it, and returned it when nobody was around. But what gadget did he have to unlock that door?" 

"A key, maybe," suggested Welcome.

"But Thevorakz has the only key to it, except for Petersen's." 

"I know. How about the suspects?" 

"Well, the company was wandering in and out of the clubrooms all the while the party went on; and everybody was pretty looped, too, except that George creature. In short, nobody we've talked to can swear that any other being was there all evening."

"Hm-hm. Have you searched for the book?" 

"We're still looking. We've requested permission to search all the apartments of our guests. So far, only the Arcturians have waived diplomatic immunity and invited us to do so." 

"Well, keep plugging, Captain, and let me know what turns up." 

"Will do." 

 

A FEW minutes later, Carlos Petersen was on the screen, demanding to know what the trouble was. Welcome sighed and broke the news as gently as possible. 

"Oh, Lord!" said Petersen. "And little blue devils," agreed the Australian. 

"I'd have your seat in a sling this moment, Welcome, if it weren't that I have to go to Earth immediately," said Petersen. "I'll be gone a couple of days. When I come back, I'll expect to see this mess straightened out." 

"We'll try." Welcome was feeling too harried by now to care for manners. But the fact that he wouldn't have Petersen breathing down his neck was a minor mercy. "M'Gamba's a good man." 

"He'd better be. I like you, Welcome, and think you were the right choice for your job. But this can develop into something too big and nasty for ethics to count. If it shows signs of doing so, Earth is going to need a scapegoat and you may very well be it." Petersen grimaced. "If they don't pick me, instead—or both of us." He glanced at his wrist chrono. "Got to run now. Earth rocket leaves in ten minutes." 

"Have fun," said Welcome moodily. 

He paced once around the office, and threw himself into his chair. For a minute he exercised the more picturesque parts of his vocabulary. 

The intercom interrupted him: "The envoy Orazuni of Inyahuna, planet Procyon A III, to see you, Freeman Welcome." 

The man blinked. "Oh, yes. He did have an appointment, didn't he? Send him in, please." 

He stood up, composing himself as the Procyonite entered. 

 

ORAZUNI looked rather like someone's idea of a medieval demon. His slim graceful body sloped forward, stalking on clawed feet and counterbalanced by the long thick tail. The six-fingered hands were also clawed, and the pointed ears were almost winglike in their size. But the head, though bald, was handsome by human standards, in a highcheeked, sharp-chinned, flat-nosed way, and the golden eyes were large and luminous and beautiful. He wore a light tunic and a brilliant scarlet cloak, and carried a portfolio under one arm. "Good day, Freeman Welcome," he said, bowing. He had taken better to the hypnopedic teaching of English than most non-humans, his accent being a nearly perfect Bostonian. "I trust you are in good health and spirits?" 

"More or less," said Welcome wryly. He liked the Procyonite, despite the sharp battle of wits which had been going on between them for days now. "And yourself?" 

"Quite well, thank you." Orazuni sat down on his tail, bracing himself with his rigidly straight legs, and accepted the proffered cigar. "There seems to have been an unfortunate incident last night." 

"Yes, rather. Have you any notion—?" 

Orazuni shrugged delicately. "One prefers not to become involved in such matters. I would not throw baseless accusations about. My group has, however, decided to show good faith by permitting the searching of our quarters. I shall so notify the police." 

"Thank you. The more cooperation we get, the sooner we'll be able to clear this up." Welcome grinned. "I wish you were as easy to deal with in the line of business, Freeman Orazuni." 

"I regret the impression," smiled Orazuni, "but I have my own planet to think of." He opened the portfolio and took out a sheet covered with an elaborate diagram. "Here, sir, is the structural formula—on a genetic rather than a chemical basis—of the human X chromosome, as determined by our technicians since we arrived on Luna. We have found conclusively that the tendency to certain types of cancer in your race—mammary, for instance—is linked here and here." He indicated a point where several lines diverged. That was a cluster of formulas in the alphabet of Inyahuna. "By proper treatment, it should be possible to modify the linkage without otherwise altering heredity in the zygote. The long-range prospect is the total elimination of any possibility of cancer from the heredity of your race." 

 

WELCOME nodded, unsurprised. What he wanted was the knowledge of theoretical and applied genetics which made such studies possible in the first place. Biological engineering—designing any life-form whatsoever, and creating it by controlled mutation! Perhaps Man himself becoming superman—at the very least, losing the inherited weaknesses which dragged him down and shadowed his life and ultimately killed him. This could mean more than the scientific revolution that began with Galileo had yet offered. 

Only it hardly seemed fair of the Inyahunans to demand every thing Earth knew in exchange. They were welcome to the null-null drive, the energy converter, and the magnetronic tube. When they also asked for instruction in such things as mathematical sociology, supercomputer theory and practice and industrial catalysis, it was going too far. Their culture didn't need all that information. They could only want it for purposes of selling to someone else — underselling Earth, maybe. Welcome and Orazuni had been bargaining for a whole week now. 

"We'd have to send a good-sized technical mission to Procyon to teach you all this," said the Australian. "It would be hard to find enough top-rank men in all those fields who'd want to be gone so many years on an alien planet; we'd have to pay them fantastic salaries. And the equipment they'd need! Really, Freeman Orazuni, you must be reasonable. I think I could add a course in advanced metal crystallography to what I've already offered you. That would help you with a good many construction problems. But then, naturally, we'd want you to give us your chemical-probe technique in return." 

"In addition to the genetic theory and the tables of constants?" protested Orazuni. "Do you wish to ruin us, Freeman Welcome? What will our poor race be able to trade for further information?" 

"Your own biological technology. You can't have worked out genetics as thoroughly as you have without a good background in biochemistry, histology, and I don't know what else." The human put the tips of his fingers together and peered over the bridge they formed. "After all, we do have some good biologists on Earth, too, you know. We could work all this out for ourselves in time. The very knowledge that such things are possible is a long step forward." 

"As for that," shrugged Orazuni gracefully, "we could send students to Earth who could consult your books and journals—" 

"It would be of limited value without the help of men who've had practical experience," said Welcome. "I'm afraid your people wouldn't even know what to look for." 

 

HE left the rest of it unspoken, though it was plain to both of them: Now that the civilized planets had gotten on to the idea of Horse Trading, they weren't going to be particularly cooperative toward casual students from outside. It wasn't a question of censorship; an effective barrier was imposed by the fact that there was no material trade to speak of between the stars. How could a visitor pay for his stay and education? He had to be financed by his hosts. And he could only earn such a scholarship as a reward for his planet's having offered a similar one to the other world. 

They bargained in a gentlemanly fashion for a while longer, Orazuni dipping into his portfolio from time to time—he never released it, and there were rumors that he slept with it—for some tantalizing sample of information. Welcome in turn threw out remarks concerning the value of nuclear energy and high-strength alloys. The human found himself wishing that he knew more about Inyahuna's culture. They were a polite but reserved people—one might almost say secretive. 

It went well today, though. Orazuni seemed much more amenable than he had been yesterday, and at the close of the discussion there was almost complete agreement. 

"I think we can wind this up tomorrow," said Welcome. "I repeat my offer of throwing in a course in quantum theory of resonance bonds as applied to alloys. Think it over." 

"I must discuss it with my group," replied Orazuni, "but I think they will consider the terms fair. Frankly, I would like to return soon with my wives. Our children will be nearly grown by the time we get home. If you would make arrangements to have the Messenger depart in a week or so—" 

"Well, all right." Welcome balanced the factors in his mind. He'd have to round up all the instructors and other experts he had on tap to go to Procyon, alert the ship's people, arrange clearance. But a week should be enough. The other Inyahunans would remain to take posts at one of Earth's universities. "Wouldn't you like to visit around in the Solar System for a few months first, though? It seems a shame for you to come all this way without seeing much more than Luna." 

"No, thank you. My people are not given to tourism." Orazuni got up to go. "Oh, by the way, if you will pardon my returning to a painful subject—I am curious. What is so unusual about this robbery, apart from the circumstances?" 

"Well, the fact that an electronic lock was opened. It's not supposed to be possible without a key." As Orazuni arched his hairless brows, Welcome explained: "The lock has no keyhole. It's held by a magnetronic field clamping two plates together with a force of several thousand tons, the field being generated by the circulation of an electronic current in several Cheval tubes. The whole thing is also wired in to an alarm circuit which goes off at any attempt to tamper. The key is actually a self-powered tube creating a heterodyning field. Since a literal infinity of wave-combinations is possible, there should be no chance of anyone's using a variable key to fumble the lock open." 

"I see. I thought it was something on that order." Orazuni nodded and stroked his chin. "Do you know, if the crime was not committed by the Sirians themselves—or, if you will pardon me, by a human—then it seems logical that the guilty party should have a very advanced knowledge of electronics." 

"I'd say so." 

"Cybernetics?" murmured Orazuni. He bowed. "Well, I will not intrude further on your time. Good day, Freeman Welcome." 

He left. 

When he was gone, the human stood thinking for a long while. Small complicated circuits—Arcturus? Rappapa seemed like a pleasant little chap, but you never knew. 

He sighed and looked out the window. The slow Lunar dawn was breaking incandescently over the jagged airless horizon and blazing into his eyes. 

"Nice day," he muttered bit- terly. 

 

M'GAMBA called up a few minutes later. "We found the book," he said. 

"Eh?" Welcome's long body jerked forward. 

"Lying in a corner of Shop Number Seven. Anybody could have left it there. We gave it back to the Sirians, but they weren't very polite about it." 

Welcome shrugged. "I don't blame them. Obviously the thief took photomicrographs of the book and got rid of the thing itself away after he was done with it. Now all we have to find is a packet consisting of a few one-inch-square films. Hell, he could have swallowed 'em." 

"And grabbed himself a whole technology without paying Vega for it. I guess George is hopping mad too, though, you can't tell. He gives me the crawlies." 

"The devil with that. We've got to find the burglar to clear ourselves. Been through the apartments?" 

"All but the Sirians and George. The Sirians wouldn't hear of it, and it'd be impossible to make a decent search in a place conditioned to New Jupiter. Nothing. Not a thing." 

Welcome bit his lip, then blurted out his suspicions of Arcturus. 

The police captain nodded. "Sounds pretty reasonable." 

"I took Rappapa fora dinkum cobber, but—well, we can't trust anybody, can we? Rig some traps. Try to fluoro him and his bunch without their knowing it. Go through their suite again with an electronic probe. Try anything." 

"All jets," said M'Gamba glumly, and clicked off. 

The intercom buzzed, "The envoy Helmung dur Brogu-Almerik, planet Alpha Centauri A III, to see you, Freeman Welcome," said Christine in a mechanical voice. 

"On top of everything else," groaned the Australian. "All right, send him in." 

 

THE door flew open. A nine-foot giant stamped in, thumping the butt of his spear on the floor, his chain mail jangling and his sword clanking. He was fairly humanoid, except for a blue skin, a tail, and antennae above his small slant eyes, but the battered face was tattooed in a ferocious pattern of red and yellow. If it hadn't been for several exploration parties from Earth, which had maintained a more or less permanent liaison with the clan chief of Brogu, this visit—or visitation—would never have happened. But the barbarians had heard news of the Horse Traders and insisted on getting into the game, and in the interests of peace the last expedition had brought this delegate back. And sloughed him off on me! thought Welcome with resentment. 

"How do you do, Freeman Helmung?" The Earthman said very softly. The Centaurian's head looked immensely high above him. 

"Quiet, I will speak!" The walls rattled. 

"Just as you wish." Welcome extended the customary box of cigars. Health hadn't reported this race as allergic to tobacco, but he hoped maliciously that Helmung would be. 

The giant grabbed a handful, popped them into his mouth, and chewed noisily. "Not bad," he said, sprawling into a chair. He swallowed, spat on the floor, and cocked his spurred feet up on the desk. "I am Helmung dur BroguAlmerik. Look on me and be afraid." It seemed a ritual greeting, for he added in a more friendly tone: "You may call me Skullsmasher." 

"Ah, yes, to be sure." Welcome sat down on the other side of the desk. "I trust you have been enjoying your stay?" 

"Not enough fights. No females big enough. That Orazuni, he is good sort and gives me much drink, otherwise you can hialamar them all." Welcome did not inquire what it was to hialamar, though he could make a shrewd guess. "I am great sorcerer. I have much vingutyr." 

"You have much everything," agreed Welcome hastily. 

"Vingutyr is—is what I have much of. That is why I am great sorcerer." The gravelly bass paused for a thunderous belch. "I shall show you how to wish your enemies dead. You shall show me how make ships-that-fly. Then we shall sack many worlds." 

"Well, really, I say now—" Welcome had a sudden sense of futility. "There just isn't much witchcraft on Earth these days." 

"I knew you was backward peoples!" cried Helmung triumphantly. "Look, dance of death, begins this way." He jumped up, waving his spear, and began to prance around, chanting. 

"Isn't there something about making a doll and sticking pins in it?" asked Welcome weakly. 

"Old-fashioned. Brogu is modern peoples. My father, top witch in Almerik, study from Earthmen. Learn about laws of science. He go on to figure laws of witchcraft." Helmung ticked off the points on his fingers, and Welcome realized that he must, after all, be his race's equivalent of an intellectual. "Law of likes-make-likes. Law of luck. Law of—" 

"Now hold on, please do." 

 

WELCOME riffled through his papers till he found the memo on Alpha Centauri submitted by the preliminary investigators, which, in the madhouse today, he hadn't had time to read. Confound it, the barbarian must have something worth the time of a division chief! He skimmed rapidly down the sheet and stopped at a paragraph referring to a limited degree of telekinesis as a congenital talent. The phenomenon was almost nonexistent among humans, and the parapsychology boys wanted Helmung humored so they could study him in detail. 

Welcome thought of the Centaurian tossing boulders through the air by pure will-power, and shuddered. 

"I understand," he began cautiously, "that you can move things merely by wishing them to move." 

"Well, little things," said Helmung deprecatingly. "Not very big. Powerful wish-mover back home was showed game called dice by Earthmen. He won much treasure from them. But he had be much powerful to move dice." 

"I see." 

Welcome suppressed an impulse to mop his brow. He wasn't very well briefed on modern parapsych theory, but he remembered vaguely that telekinesis was attributed to a linkage between the neural field and the local sub-electronic fluxes. If that was so, you wouldn't expect the nervous system to have enough energy output to lift anything massive. Still, it would be interesting to watch. 

"Do you mind if I try you?" he asked. "I've never seen this before." 

"Is little thing," said Helmung scornfully. "Why not ask me wish-kill somebody for you?" 

"Some other time," said Welcome. He went over to a cabinet in which he kept testing equipment and took out an oscilloscope. When he had a steady sine wave on it, he gestured with one hand. "Can you change that wiggly shape there?" he asked. 

"Easy," grunted Helmung. "Orazuni told me about little things, too small to see." 

"Yes. As a biologist, he'd naturally be interested in TK, too. Never mind, go ahead, if you please." 

 

HELMUNG scowled in concentration. The electron trace jerked wildly, slithered across the screen, and began shaping itself into obscene drawings. Welcome hastily shut off the scope. 

"That's fine," he said. "That's just beautiful." 

Helmung rubbed his hands with a businesslike air. "Now how you build ships-that-fly?" 

"I don't think you would be really interested in that," said Welcome as tactfully as possible. 

Helmung's tail lashed against his ankles. He leaned across the desk, grabbed the human by the scruff of the neck, lifted him up, and shook him. 

"So Brogu witchcraft not good enough for you, hah?" 

"Yowp!" Welcome was near choking when Helmung set him down. 

"I am patient man," rumbled the barbarian, "but you show me how build ships, or—" 

"Now look, Skullsmasher," said Welcome shakily. "Really, I'd like to, you know, but I'm not the boss here. I can't tell you myself. You see—uh—well, on Earth our witches still believe in the dolls-and-pins theory. Also, to build spaceships you'd need tools you don't have, even if you knew how. Why don't you think it over for, a while? We could show you lots of other things. For instance, you know what an alloy is? Well, we can tell you how to make better alloys than you now have. Unbreakable swords and so on. Why not start with that and work up?" 

"Might be," grumbled Helmung, taking a thoughtful bite off another cigar. 

"Oh, and ways to brew firewater, perhaps," added Welcome. 

He winked, and Helmung guffawed, and presently the interview ended in a spirit of good fellowship. When the broad mailed back had gone out the door, Welcome made a dash for a three-starred bottle. 

He thumbed the intercom switch. 

"Come on in Chris," he said. "I think we both need a drink." 

 

TWO hours later, Welcome was sure he had tracked down the thief. 

The time had been-devoted to hard thinking and to study of the files on the four possible planets, sent up from the Division of Biopoliticology. Four planets, because you could eliminate Helmung immediately, and Welcome was sure enough of his own staff to feel certain that no human, even in a fit of greed or planetarism, had snaffled the book. Furthermore, you had to bear in mind that none of the delegates could have known in advance that a theft would be possible. They could not have made elaborate preparations beforehand for the job, but must have used whatever means were available to them, more or less on impulse. That argued for the burglar's having the technology to pick an electronic lock even if he had never seen one before. 

That also ruled out Procyon at once. Enough was known of their science to make it quite certain that they lagged behind Earth in such matters as control circuits. 

Vega—you couldn't be sure just what George slid or did not have at his disposal, but the fact that he had come here in the first place to get some of mankind's electronic and magnetronic knowledge pretty well proved that he couldn't have done the crime. Why should he steal his own book, anyway? New Jupiter wasn't much interested in interstellar intercourse or in setting up its own Horse Traders. 

It was also a safe bet that Sirius did not know how to open the lock without a key. To be sure, Thevorakz did have such an instrument, and he might well have faked the crime to discredit Earth in the eyes of other races. But the psychology reports, while not conclusive, did make that line of thought seem improbable. The Dominators weren't that subtle. 

By elimination—Arcturus. 

Welcome sighed and called M'Gamba's office. "Anything new?" 

"We're working along," said the policeman. "We've had every human who was on the fourth sub-level last night, at the party or on duty elsewhere, under deep hypnosis—total recall. By piecing together all their accounts, we've shown that every member of the Procyonite and the Arcturian delegations was seen by somebody all the time until the party broke up and the Sirians went home. 

In other words, there's not a chance that any of them could have done it. There are blank spots as far as the rest are concerned, though." 

"Arcturus, eh?" Welcome frowned. "Do you have anything else on them?" 

"Well, we have been snapping fluoros at the Arcturian ducks on the sly, as you suggested. You know those little pouches they wear around their necks, to carry things in? One of their party—Srnapopoi, the name is—is carrying around a packet of microfilms. But it can't be the film, can it?" 

"Can't it?" Welcome showed his teeth in a humorless grin. "Look, Captain, a circuit technology as highly developed as theirs should be able to crack the electronic lock." 

"I tell you, they were under observation all evening!" 

"But were their robots?" M'Gamba paused. "Never thought of that." 

"Well, it seems plausible, doesn't it? Trouble is, this is a delicate matter. We can't just arrest them on suspicion; we'll need mighty good proof." 

 

M'GAMBA rubbed his chin. "I think a look at this Arcturian's neck pouch could be arranged. He's down in the shop now, working up a demonstration model. I'll have one of my skilled operators go down and talk to him and—ah—accidentally cut the thongs of the pouch with a beam-slicer. Cut the pouch itself open, too. The contents will spill out and—" 

"It's your problem. Just make sure you have a cover-up in case he turns out not to be carrying the stuff, after all. Call me as soon as you know, will you?" Welcome clicked off and sat for a moody while, considering his own next move. Finally he sighed and called Christine. "Get hold of Rappapa and have him come here, please. Diplomatically, of course." 

"Auch, you don't think—" 

"I'm afraid I do." 

Welcome stuffed his pipe and looked out at the savage dawn-glare. Damn and blast, how did you accuse an accredited envoy of theft, especially when you liked him? 

Rappapa came bustling in accompanied by no more than a midget helicopter. 

"Twice in one arbitrary diurnal period?" he quacked. "Believe me, your excellency, I am flattered by such hyper-attention on the part of your doubtless busy-with-vast-problems-of-interstellar-negotiations self." 

"I need your help," said the human awkwardly. "Would you like a cigar?" 

"Gratitude erupts from me," said Rappapa. "If there is even of-the-most-micrometric way I can assist in—" 

"It's this business of the theft." Welcome drew heavily on his pipe. "It puts my whole planet in a deucedly bad light. We have to catch the burglar to save our own reputation. At the same time, he is somebody's diplomat, which could lead to an unholy row if we arrested him." 

"Anyone who would ponder the violation of your excellency's so lavish hospitality should be de-dignified," said Rappapa indignantly. 

 

"IT'S not that simple, I'm afraid," Welcome explained. "His planet would react with a great show of injury, one harsh word would lead to another, the seeds of mutual suspicion would be sown. Don't you think, Freeman Rappapa, it would be best for the thief's own planet, too, if he merely surrendered his loot? Then no one need ever know what has happened. The whole thing could be discreetly hushed up and forgotten."

"First the much-to-be-pondered question of locating the pilferish ambassador arises," said Rappapa. "Does your excellency the assistance of my abject self in such detection work desire?" 

So he's going to stall, after all. 

"If the thief confessed," said Welcome desperately, "I would understand that he committed the act only from the highest motives of planetarism. I would not look down on him for it, or discriminate against him in any way." 

Rappapa waved his cigar reverently. "Behold the magnanimity of the magnanimous!" 

"If he doesn't confess, though, if we have to find him for ourselves, we may have to be rather stern about it afterward." 

"Of course. Your excellency burrows to the very foundation of justice." 

The visor buzzed. Here goes, thought Welcome. He clicked it on, and M'Gamba's features looked bleakly out at him. 

"Well?" 

"It worked," said the captain. "My agent got his hands on the films, shoved them under the nearest reader. They're the ones, sure enough." 

"And how about the—one who carried them?" 

"He insists he didn't know he had them. Says someone must have planted them on him. That wouldn't be hard to do, of course, so I haven't put him under formal arrest yet. What do you suggest?" 

"I'll call you back." Welcome clicked off and turned to Rappapa. "Well, we've located our thief. Finally," he said. 

"So I g-gathered." The Arcturian jittered about on the floor, stuttering in his excitement. "Who is it? Who is the low, vile, not-to-be-mentioned-without-expectoration creature?" 

"His name," said Welcome heavily, "is Srnapopoi." "Srna—" 

"Yes." 

"B-but — donnabi whichu krx killuwi—it is not of the possible! Believe me, excellent excellency, w-we are p-pure as distilled water!" Rappapa began trembling. 

"Your people should be able to figure out an electronic lock and have your robots pick it," said Welcome tonelessly. "And Srnapopoi was carrying the films." 

"Copies? Copies m-made by the th-thief to divert suspicion!" 

 

WELCOME came around from behind the desk. "Don't take it so hard," he said kindly. "If you like, we'll claim that Srnapopoi did it on his own initiative, without your knowledge. We'll hush it all up." 

"But he couldn't have!" wailed Rappapa. "The robots can only my orders obey!" 

Welcome leaned back against the desk, scowling. His pipe had gone out and he made an elaborate ritual of relighting it to hide his uneasiness. He had given Rappapa an out and the duck hadn't taken it. Nor would you expect anyone cool enough to pull that job to blow his jets this way when discovered—or, for that matter, to hide his loot so clumsily, though of course there was no accounting for non-human psychology. 

Rappapa began to cry. "We are besmirched with accusations and have lost confidence. You think I am a not-fit-to-wipe-the-feet-on-egg-eater. What will my nestmates say?" 

"Now, after all—" 

"They will say, `Twiutiuk poi-poi to spung RappaPa.' " 

Welcome scratched his head helplessly. "All right, all right, you didn't do it. You've been the victim of a fraud. But then who is guilty?" 

Rappapa rubbed the tears from his bulging eyes. "It is necessary to protect the Kwillitchian self by the true monster finding," he said with some return of his old perkiness. "Will you give me out of your polychromatic mercy a chance?" 

"Certainly. Because if you're not guilty, then we've still got to find the one who is." Welcome sat down on a corner of the desk. Inwardly, he groaned at the thought of starting over again, just when he had thought the business was settled—but, damn it, you couldn't simply call an official delegate a liar, however much you might want to. "Let us assume that you did not do it. That leaves two possibilities, Sirius and Vega." 

"Would you from the scintillant heights of intellect descend to explain the omission of Procyon and Alpha Centauri?" 

"Well, the Centaurian is obvious. He's too stupid even to think of such a job. And Orazuni and his people were never out of sight of a human last night." Fairness forced Welcome to admit: "Neither were you Arcturians, for that matter. But you had the robots." 

"Could not Orazuni have had hidden-away robots?" 

"Not with his technical background. They're biologists, biochemists, not electronicians, except on an elementary level. Unless Orazuni stole the key, which, he did not, he just had no means of opening that lock." 

"That leaves only some elaborate and improbable-on-the-face-of-it plot by Sirius or Vega." 

"And I don't think it could have been Vega. They're backward in electronics. With the atmospheric pressure of New Jupiter, they never even developed a vacuum tube. And as for Sirius—" 

"No, wait! Robot delegate sent to do foul deeds while the weaver of intricate plots sits at his ease in public view." Rappapa's eyes bulged until they seemed in danger of falling out. 

Welcome looked at him, and he looked at Welcome. "Killuweetchungu!" squawked Rappapa. "Let us go!" 

"Hold on. We have to think this out." 

"No time to think! Come!" 

 

RAPPAPA bounded from the office. Welcome cursed and charged after him. If that impulsive featherhead accused the wrong being…

Christine saw four feet of squawking Arcturian, followed by six feet of cursing human, followed by seven inches of valiantly laboring helicopter, shoot through her office. She got up and raced after them. The receptionist saw the parade go by and excitedly joined it. A passing janitor saw them streaking through the hall and took out after the receptionist. 

Rappapa went down 'the ramp to the fourth sub-level, screeching and whistling. The vorakz came out of his quarters to see what the fuss was about, just in time for Rappapa to unbalance him by darting under his legs, Welcome to bowl him over, and Christine, the receptionist, the janitor, and a few odd specimens picked up along the way to trample across him. As he rose, howling his fury, the helicopter collided with his head. He snarled and galloped after the rest. 

"Where is the Centaurian?" clacked Rappapa at George, who was rolling down the corridor. "Where is he lurking?" 

"In the clubroom," said the Vegan, pointing. 

Rappapa vaulted the metal shell. Welcome and Christine leapfrogged over him. The others drew up, until Thevorakz took a flying broad jump above the whole group. George stared after them, shrugged, and rolled imperturbably on his way. 

The clubroom was almost deserted: a stray Arcturian was reading a murder mystery, Helmung was draped over the bar clutching a bottle, and Orazuni sat chatting with the warrior. 

"There they are!" yammered Rappapa. "There abide the overly diabolical thieves!" 

"Shut up, you bloody fool—" Welcome tripped on a chair and went flat on the floor. When he crawled up, Rappapa was grabbing Helmung by the baldric and chattering a stream of questions. 

"What is little one?" rumbled the barbarian. "And why?" 

"We want to know how much Orazuni offered you to turn thief!" 

"I?" Orazuni smiled tolerantly. "Our colleague seems a trifle excited, Freeman Welcome." 

 

THEVORAKZ clumped up to the bar, brushing assorted humans aside. 

"I demand an apology!" he roared. "I did not come nine light-yearth to be walked on!" 

"Let me go," growled Helmung uneasily. He batted Rappapa away. 

"Help!" squealed the Arcturian. "Com-pan-ee—HELP!" 

"Really, now," said Orazuni reproachfully, "I must say this is a most undignified scene." 

"Will you apologize to me?" bellowed Thevorakz. 

"I go my place," said Helmung. "Do not follow." He shoved his way through the crowd. 

 



 

"Stop, thief!" yelled. Rappapa. His robots marched in the door. "The Centaurian!" he added. 

"Now, see here—" began Orazuni. 

"Stop him, too!" cried Rappapa. "He the films has!" 

"I shall also demand an apology," said the Procyonite with stiff dignity. 

Thevorakz reached out and gathered in a handful of his cloak. "Maybe you better wait a little," he said. 

Helmung had just noticed the robots deploying before him. 

"I see little men!" he gasped. He waved his arms and started an incantation. 

A detachment of robots swarmed up some curtains, took them down, and began to hobble the Centaurian with them. Helmung looked suddenly crushed. 

"My witchcraft not works here on Luna," he mumbled. "I want go home." 

Welcome decided it was time for him to do something. 

"Helmung," he asked, "did you open the door to the Sirian quarters for Orazuni?" 

"I promise him I not tell anyone that," said Helmung in a self-righteous, voice. "You torture me, do anything, I not confess I was one who open door." 

Suddenly Orazuni broke into a laugh. 

"Never mind," he said. "Here is the other copy of the book." He fished in his portfolio and tossed a packet over to Welcome. "And now, freemen, if you will excuse me—" 

Thevorakz's bellow cut through a sudden quiet. "When do I get my apology?" 

 

"IT should have been obvious, I suppose," said Welcome to Christine and M'Gamba. "That attempt to frame the Arcturians by making an extra copy of the book and planting it on one of them couldn't have thrown us off very long. But Orazuni only needed to have us baying along his false trail for a few days; then he'd be safely on his way home, bearing the films. We did know, though, that he had been cultivating Helmung's friendship ever since he learned that the Centaurians are telekinetic. His interest was scientific to start with, but it soon occurred to him that if Helmung could control electron streams easily enough to make pictures on an oscilloscope, he could surely open an electronic lock. And the Vegan data is valuable." 

"Did he hope to get more out of it than just the tables themselves?" asked M'Gamba. 

"Yes. I was talking to him just now, and he was quite frank and cheerful. Procyon has entertained notions of taking the job of Horse Trading—ultimately the scientific leadership in all respects—away from Earth. This theft would not only have discredited us, but given them a nice chunk of knowledge to trade with, besides what they learned from us through legitimate channels. Orazuni got Helmung to steal the book from him by the bribe of a love potion—a hormone mixture adapted to Centaurian biochemistry. Helmung's received that payment, by the way, and is eager to get home and try it out; so that's one more nuisance off our necks." 

"And what are we going to do about Orazuni?" asked Christine worriedly. 

Welcome shrugged. "Keep an eye on him. What else can we do? We need the knowledge and the good will of his planet. We'll go on just as if nothing had happened. Horse Traders can't be very prim, you know." 

 

HE looked out the office window. The Sun was visible now, its blinding glare filtered to a soft radiance, and the sterile land of crags and craters had an eerie beauty over it. 

"Hard to believe this affair only took one working day," he said. "And what a day! Can we have some nice peaceful routine for a while, Chris?" 

"Not for long," she told him. "The Quest is due in from Tau Ceti soon. The previous expedition there reported the natives were quite anxious to learn from us and readying a delegation. I think their proudest achievement to date is an ingenious method of chipping flint." 

 

FORECAST

 

Next month you'll meet THE SENTIMENTALISTS by Murray Leinster, as strange and awesome a honeymoon couple as science fiction has ever presented. You wouldn't want them for neighbors, but they handy to have around—a few million miles away! 

UNIVERSITY by Peter Phillips is a startling lesson . . . apparently for the most highly educated and gifted only! At any rate, they're the ones who are the unsuspecting students in a course they never knew existed. 

Pulling Galileo's unpleasant little trick of proving that something that everyone believed is false, J. T. M'lntosh's MADE IN U.S.A. produces chaos for two people in particular and the rest of the world in general! You'd never think a simple fact could have so drastic an effect.