Andy tasted it. "Elysian fields, Felician shoes." He tried to sit up again. "You got all that down?" he demanded.

"Yes," Miss Featherpenny lied. She had it in her head, but not on the steno pad.

"Then get somebody to send it off so we can find out if it's good enough. And come back soon." He wobbled on his elbow. "You do have...."

"I think I'd better attend to sending it personally." Miss Featherpenny opened the door. "You rest until you feel better."

Blahrog had gone, but Hrom was waiting for her. She looked more like a Christmas fairy than usual. A mischievous one.

"Did you manage?" she whispered.

"Barely." Miss Featherpenny looked grim.

"Drink this," Hrom ordered, holding out a mug of Throatduster.

Miss Featherpenny was surprised. "I thought ladies didn't drink on Felix II."

"There are," Hrom said, "exceptions."

The next twelve days of waiting for computer results were not as hopefully active as the first twelve. The Felicians finished setting up their manufacturing and storing systems, but they didn't start making shoes. The cattle drovers forbore to slaughter the beasts who provided the leather.

The Everking and his Debators all developed severe cases of beard-itch, a Felician nervous disorder. Since it is even more unseemly to scratch on Felix II than it is on Earth, they retired temporarily from public life.

Andy also retired from public life, biting his fingernails, an Earther nervous disorder. Blahrog joined him in the illness, which was new to Felicians. By the time the answer from Planetary Promotions came it was the most fashionable habit on the planet, in spite of the fact that Felicians have extremely tough nails, and a pair of bony ridges rather than true teeth.

The second message was also direct from Crumbly. It read: "Computer rates ad campaign at intensity 0.942. P. P. in action by the time you receive this. Stephens ordered back to Home Office; promoted to first class."

Four Earth months later, 

 Prev. P 13/21 next