economy. The Groaci are barely ahead of them."

"Barely," said Retief. "Just over the line into crude atomics ... like fission bombs."

Magnan shook his head, turned back to his papers. "What market exists for such devices on a world at peace? I suggest you address your attention to the less spectacular but more rewarding work of studying the social patterns of the local youth."

"I've studied them," said Retief. "And before I meet any of the local youth socially I want to get myself a good blackjack."

II

Retief left the sprawling bungalow-type building that housed the chancery of the Terrestrial Embassy, swung aboard a passing flat-car and leaned back against the wooden guard rail as the heavy vehicle trundled through the city toward the looming gantries of the shipyards.

It was a cool morning. A light breeze carried the fishy odor of Fusty dwellings across the broad cobbled avenue. A few mature Fustians lumbered heavily along in the shade of the low buildings, audibly wheezing under the burden of their immense carapaces. Among them, shell-less youths trotted briskly on scaly stub legs. The driver of the flat-car, a labor-caste Fustian with his guild colors emblazoned on his back, heaved at the tiller, swung the unwieldy conveyance through the shipyard gates, creaked to a halt.

"Thus I come to the shipyard with frightful speed," he said in Fustian. "Well I know the way of the naked-backs, who move always in haste."

Retief climbed down, handed him a coin. "You should take up professional racing," he said. "Daredevil."

He crossed the littered yard and tapped at the door of a rambling shed. Boards creaked inside. Then the door swung back.

A gnarled ancient with tarnished facial scales and a weathered carapace peered out at Retief.

"Long-may-you-sleep," said Retief. "I'd like to take a look around, if you don't mind. I understand you're laying the bedplate for your new liner today."

"May-you-dream-of-the-deeps," the old fellow mumbled. He waved a stumpy arm toward a group of shell-less Fustians standing by a massive hoist. "The youths know more of bedplates than do I, who but tend the place of papers."

"I know how you feel, old-timer," said Retief. "That sounds like the story of my life. 

 Prev. P 3/18 next