"Two or three hoda out of Novo. It's a small ranch, with enough hectares to raise a few shaihans. How about it? We have a lot to talk about, and here the walls have ears."
"Sounds tempting. But we can't just desert poor Cyril and Jack!"
"They will be taken care of." In the Portuguese of the Viagens Interplanetarias, Reith spoke crisply into the room communicator. "Zero cinco ... Herculeu? Do me the favor of taking two of my clients to dinner, will you please?"
"¿E a dama deleitosa?" rasped the machine in the same language.
"She has other plans," said Reith.
"Bem." Herculeu Castanhoso's snicker resounded over the communicator. An hour earlier, at the immigration desk, the security officer had made a great fuss over Alicia. Like everyone else in the Terran community, Herculeu knew the bittersweet story of the long-ago romance between the social scientist and the professional tour guide.
Ignoring Herculeu's chuckle, Reith turned back to Alicia. "All fixed!"
"Well, if you're sure—"
"Of course, wear your outdoor clothes, and bring overnight essentials."
She looked sharply at him. "What sort of quarters are you putting me in?"
"Fear not," he said with a mischievous grin. "You'll have your own room, with a bolt on the door big enough to stop a bishtar. And Alister—"
A knock announced Ordway, who plaintively asked: "I say, Reith! When do we get something to drink? I haven't had a bloody drop in a fortnight, and I'm tripping over my tongue."
"In a few minutes," replied Reith. "The Nova Iorque doesn't open till the ninth hour, Krishnan time. Lish, want to wassail with us?"
"No, thanks. I need to clean up. Come back when you're through."
In the cocktail lounge, Reith and White sipped light falat wine. Ordway took a generous draft of the kvad he had ordered. "Not bad," he said, staring into his mug.
"Be careful," said Reith. "It's deceptively smooth, but it runs up to 35 percent alcohol."
"Don't worry," said Ordway, gulping another swig. He glanced about at the other patrons, staring at the Krishnans among them. These were, for extraterrestrials, remarkably humanoid in appearance, save for their pointed ears, olfactory antennae, and faintly greenish complexions. Ordway said, "Tell me about these wogs. I thought they had no hair on their feces, but those two seem to have beards."
"It's a fed among Krishnans," said Reith. "False beards in imitation of Earthmen."
Ordway laughed so loudly that heads turned, and White looked worried. "By God's foreskin!" cried Ordway. "That's a hell of a thing! Thank the Lord, we human beings haven't started trying to look like Krishnans —yet. What are those feathery things above their eyebrows, like a moth's feelers?"
"Organs of smell," said Reith, lowering his voice in an attempt to warn his brash companion. "Some Krishnans have an olfactory sense much keener than ours—like a hound's."
For half a Krishnan hour, Reith answered questions about the planet and its inhabitants. Ordway asked: "They do look jolly human, except for those feelers. Tell me, how do they—ah—go about making little Krishnans?"
Reith grinned. "Much the same way we do. But they're oviparous."
"Eh?" Ordway looked blank.
"They lay eggs."
"Oh. How about Krishnans and people? I mean, if you put a he of one species with a she of the other, could they—ah—"
"Yes, they could. Their organs look different, but they're still compatible."
"Like British and American lighting fixtures?"
"Exactly. As far as I know, they're the only extraterrestrials you can say that of."
"Is there any—ah—interracial frigadoon around here?"
Reith shrugged. "Some; mostly male Terrans mating with female Krishnans. The other combination is rare."
"Why is that?"
"For one thing, Terran males outnumber Terran females, so the girls can easily get human husbands. For another, Terran women say they don't enjoy sex with Krishnans; it's over too quickly."
Ordway's round, ruddy face took a sly look. "Have you ever—ah—rogered a Krishnan female?"
Bristling, Reith began: "None of—" Then he checked himself, not wishing to get relations with these new clients off to a bad start.
"Sorry!" said Ordway. "No offense intended; but one can't help being curious."
"That's okay," said Reith. "Matter of fact, I was once married to a native princess."
"I say, that could be the basis for a script! What happened? I mean, what was the upshot?"
"Annulment on grounds of coercion."
"Who did the coercing?"
"I'll tell you the story someday, maybe," said Reith firmly.
Ordway looked disappointed but forbore to pursue the matter. He asked: "How about offspring? I mean, are there little half-Krishnans mucking about?"
"No. Their organs may be compatible with ours, but their genetic systems are not. It would be easier to cross a man with a geranium."
"I've known men who'd been crossed with pansies," smirked Ordway.
White interjected: "Cyril is a man of strong prejudices."
"I know what's normal, that's all," said Ordway. "Look here, how about another round? I'm as dry as your American Death Valley."
Reith signaled to Yang. He and White drank only falat; but Ordway laid heavily into the much stronger kvad. Whereas drinking made Ordway boisterously cheerful, it seemed to depress White. Reith asked: "What's the matter, Mr. White? Don't you like the prospect of shooting a picture here?"
White smiled weakly. "Call me Jack. To tell the truth, I don't. I didn't want to leave Terra, but Stavrakos—"
"Who?"
"Kostis Stavrakos, my boss; he insisted. He knew I had no dependents at the moment, so I didn't have an excuse for backing out."
"You haven't suffered so far, have you?"
"That's not it. I don't mind travel, at least on Earth; but, you see, I'm an observant Jew. God knows how I'll obey the dietary laws here, or keep track of the holy days."
"I understand," said Reith. "We get Muslims who can't figure out how to pray towards Mecca. As for the holy days, we have our own clocks and calendars, since our day and year are longer than Earth's, while the moon—that is, one revolution of Karrim—is shorter than the Terran month. But the boys in Space Control can tell you what day it is on Earth. As to the food, you'll just have to become a vegetarian, since we have nothing here exactly corresponding to a Terran ruminant."
Lugubriously, White nodded. "I feel this will be my unlucky trip. And another thing ... I follow my horoscope at home—"
"Damned superstitious nonsense," growled Ordway.
Reith asked: "Isn't there something in the Old Testament about astrologers being burned with fire?"
"Yes, in Forty-seventh Isaiah," said White. "Rut in Judges it says the stars in their courses fought against Sisera. So there must be something to astrology after all."
"You can stop worrying about that, at least," said Reith. "The official religion of the Gozashtando Empire is a kind of home-grown astrology. It's exactly as scientific as the Terran variety. You'll see when we get there."
As talk continued, Reith uneasily noted that Ordway's voice grew louder and that his speech, less guarded, developed a touch of Cockney. As his voice became harsh, his words waxed offensive.
"Look at that twee bloke with the sword!" boomed Ordway. "Oo the hell does the bloody wog think he is? For ten bob I'd pull his goddam beard off!"
"Shut up!" snapped Reith. "That's Prince Ferrian of Sotaspé, a big shot around here. He's also a dangerous fighter and an old friend of mine."
"I don't give a shi' if he's the bloody emperor. I say no fuckin' greenie 'as any business in a white man's bar. I'll pull the twit's bleeding beard off—"