which the watchtower rose. There were a dozen or so individuals waiting for them⁠—the five Terrans, three men and two women, from the telecast station, and the rest Kragans. One of these, dark-skinned but with speckles no darker than light amber, armed only with a heavy dagger, came over and clapped von Schlichten on the shoulder, grinning opalescently.

“Greetings, Von!” he squawked in Kragan, then, seeing Paula, switched over to the customary language of the Takkad Sea country. “It makes happiness to see you. How long will you stay with us?”

“Till the Aldebaran gets in from Konkrook, to pick up the rifles,” von Schlichten replied, in Lingua Terra. He looked at his watch. “Two hours and a half⁠ ⁠… Kankad, this is Paula Quinton; Paula, King Kankad.”

He took out his geek-speaker and crammed it into his mouth. Before any other race on Uller, that would have been the most shocking sort of bad manners, without the token-concealment of the handkerchief. Kankad took it as a matter of course. At some length, von Schlichten explained the nature of Paula’s sociographic work, her connection with the Extraterrestrials’ Rights Association, and her intention of going to the Arctic mines. Kankad nodded.

“You were right,” he said. “I wouldn’t have understood all that in your language. If I had read it, maybe, but not if I heard it.” He put his upper right hand on Paula’s shoulder and uttered a clicking approximation of her name. “I make you one of us,” he told her. “You must come back, after the work stops at the mines; if you want to learn about my people, I’ll show you what you want to see, and tell you what you want to know. But why not stay here? Why bother about those geeks at the mines; the Company treats them much better than they deserve. Stay here with us; we will make you happy to be with us.”

Paula replied slowly: “I thank Kankad, but I must go. Those on Terra who sent me here want me to learn for myself how the workers at the mines are treated. But I will come back⁠—in a hundred, a hundred and fifty days.”

Kankad’s opal-jeweled grin widened. “Good! We’ll be waiting for you.” He turned and introduced another Kragan, about his own age, who wore the equipment and insignia of a Company native-major and was freshly painted with the Company emblem. “This is Kormork. He and I have borne young to each other. Kormork, you watch over Paula Quinton.” He managed, on the second try, to make it more or less recognizable. “Bring her back safe. Or else find yourself a good place to hide.”

Kankad introduced the rest of his people, and von Schlichten introduced the Terrans from the telecast-station. Then Kankad looked at the watch he was wearing on his lower left wrist.

“We will have plenty of time, before the ship comes, to show Paula the town,” he suggested. “Von, you know better than I do what she would like to see.”

He led the way past a pair of long 90 mm guns to a stone stairway. Von Schlichten explained, as they went down, that the guns of King Kankad’s Town were the only artillery above 75 mm on Uller in non-Terran hands. They climbed into an open machine-gun carrier and strapped themselves to their seats, and for two hours King Kankad showed her the sights of the town. They visited the school, where young Kragans were being taught to read Lingua Terra and studied from textbooks printed in Johannesburg and Sydney and Buenos Aires. Kankad showed her the repair-shops, where twoscore descendants of Kragan riever-chieftains were working on contragravity equipment, under the supervision of a Scottish-Afrikaner and his Malay-Portuguese wife; the small-arms factory, where very respectable copies of Terran rifles and pistols and auto-weapons were being turned out; the machine-shop; the physics and chemistry labs; the hospital; the ammunition-loading plant; the battery of 155 mm Long Toms, built in Kankad’s own shops, which covered the road up the sloping rock-spine behind the city; the printing-shop and bookbindery; the observatory, with a big telescope and an ingenious orrery of the Beta Hydrae system; the nuclear-power plant, part of the original price for giving up brigandage.

Half an hour before the ship from Konkrook was due, they had arrived at the airport, where a gang of Kragans were clearing a berth for the Aldebaran. From somewhere, Kankad produced two cold bottles of Cape Town beer for Paula and von Schlichten, and a bowl of some boiling-hot black liquid for himself. Von Schlichten and Paula lit cigarettes; between sips of his bubbling hell-brew, Kankad gnawed on the stalk of some swamp-plant. Paula seemed as much surprised at Kankad’s disregard for the eating taboo as she had been at von Schlichten’s open flouting of the convention of concealment when he had put in his geek-speaker.

“This is the only place on Uller where this happens,” von Schlichten told her. “Here, or in the field when Terran and Kragan soldiers are together. There aren’t any taboos between us and the Kragans.”

“No,” Kankad said. “We cannot eat each others’ food, and because our bodies are different, we cannot be the fathers of each others’ young. But we have been battle-comrades, and worksharers, and we have learned from each other, my people more from yours than yours from mine. Before you came, my people were like children, shooting arrows at little animals on the beach, and climbing among the rocks at dare-me-and-I-do, and playing war with toy weapons. But we are growing up, and it will not be long before we will stand beside you, as the grown son stands beside his parent, and when that day comes, you will not be ashamed of us.”

It was easy to forget that Kankad had four arms and a rubbery, quartz-speckled skin, and a face like a lizard.

“I have always wished that some of your people could come to Terra, to study,” von Schlichten said. “I was talking about it with Sid Harrington, only a short

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