"I'm way ahead of you, Griffin. He says there are only a few thousand left. The rest were all destroyed in a war with the barbarians." 

 "Barbarians?" 

 "They're extinct." 

 "How many races were there?" 

 "I'll get to that if you'll stop interrupting," Kung rejoined testily. "Joe says there are only two kinds of people, his own dark, straight-haired kind and the barbarians. They have curly hair, white skin and round eyes. You'd pass for a barbarian, according to Joe, only you don't have a faceful of hair. He wants to know how things are going on the other planets." 

 "I suppose that's my cue to break into a cold sweat and feel a premonition of disaster." Griffin tried to smile and almost made it. 

 "Not necessarily, but it seems our iron-age man is fairly well informed in extraplanetary affairs." 

 "I guess I'd better start learning the language." 

 Thanks to the spade work Kung Su had done in preparing hypno-recordings, Griffin had a working knowledge of the Rational People's language eleven days later when he sat down to drink herb infused hot water with Joe and other Old Ones in the low-roofed wooden building around which clustered a village of two hundred humanoids. He fidgeted through interminable ritualistic cups of hot water. Eventually Joe hid his hands in the sleeves of his robe and turned with an air of polite inquiry. Now we get down to business, Griffin thought. 

 "Joe, you know by now why we're digging up your bottom land. We'll recompense you in one way or another. Meanwhile, could you give me a little local history?" 

 Joe smiled like a well nourished bodhisattva. "Approximately how far back would you like me to begin?" 

 "At the beginning." 

 "How long is a year on your planet?" Joe inquired. 

 "Your year is eight and a half days longer. Our day is three hundred heartbeats longer than yours." 

 Joe nodded his thanks. "More water?" 

 Prev. P 3/6 next