Touchdown, Touchdown, Rah, Rah, Rah!

“A human player,” Zelk said. The dean of Vrekle University sniffed thoughtfully as she read the papers Ray Bennett had put on her desk. Ray thought she looked puzzled; her dark muzzle had grown more wrinkled than before. “Coming to Kya, this student’s main desire is to play bagdrag?”

“It’s not his only reason for coming here,” Ray told her. “Richard Faber is majoring in education. He wants to extend his studies to include some nonhuman educational techniques.”

“Yes, his letter mentions that.” The dean stood up and walked over to her office window. It was late summer on this part of Kya, and a warm breeze brought a scent like cinnamon through the glassless window. Ray enjoyed it, although he knew it had a greater impact on Dean Zelk; the kya had an exquisite sense of smell. “Representing him, what can you tell me about him?” she asked, as she idly stroked at the thick fur on one forearm.

“He’s just finished his second year at Colorado State,” Ray said. “His scholastic record is good. He’s a star football player. I guess he wants to branch out into new sports.”

“Vutebowl ?” The dean shrugged her furry shoulders at the alien word. “Hearing this, I take it you don’t know him personally?”

“That’s correct,” Ray said. He squirmed a bit on his stool. The kya were basically humanoid, but there were enough differences in their anatomy to make their furniture awkward for humans. “I’m a business agent. Faber and some other humans contacted me through my office on Earth, and asked me to help him enroll in a good Kya university.” He decided not to mention that the “office” was a post-office box in New Jersey. He wanted to give the impression that he was a successful businessman, not a misplaced linguist who had blundered into a new profession.

Zelk’s floppy ears twitched in interest. “Would these other humans be his family?”

Ray shook his head. “No, they’re the Galactic Sports Network. GSN is offering to pay all of Faber’s expenses, on two conditions. One is that he plays on your bagdrag team. The second is that the network gets to purchase the off-world broadcast rights to your team’s games this year. They’re offering a very generous payment for those rights,” Ray added. Generous, indeed, he thought. His mouth had watered when he had heard GSN’s offer; his 10 percent of the deal would make him well-to-do, if not wealthy.

“I get the scent,” Zelk said. Technologically, Kya was a century or so behind Earth, with machines and industries similar to those of the 1930s. In other areas the kya were as sophisticated as humans—and the scent Zelk had was money for her institution. “Exactly what terms do you have in mind?”

The phone woke Ray the next morning. “Glargh,” Ray said. “Hroo’izhit?”

“Mr. Bennett?” a doubtful kya voice asked. “Zgorch Aerodrome calling.”

“Ghuh?” Ray sat up, tried to work the gummy taste out of his mouth, and looked at the phone. There was no image over the plate, which meant the caller was using a local voice-only phone. “What’s the problem?” Ray asked in Wideplain, the local kya language.

“The Stanley Weinbaum is landing in a few hours,” the caller said. “Being so, you’re scheduled to meet a passenger, a—” paper rustled “—a Reek Hard Vapor?”

“You mean Richard Faber?” Ray asked. He shook his head. “Impossible. He isn’t due for another, uh, forty or so days.”

Somehow the caller made Ray picture a shrug. “Having just received the Weinbaum’s passenger manifest. I can tell you he’s on board. His shuttle lands in an hour.”

“I see,” Ray said. “Thanks for calling. I’ll be down in a while.”

Ray bathed and dressed. He had signed the contract with Zelk last night, then called the network to let them know they had a deal. The Earth-Kya trip took six weeks—well, the network must have assumed that Ray would successfully complete his negotiations, and set things in motion months ago. That was a dangerous assumption, he reminded himself. The kya might have turned down the deal; offers that seemed good to humans sometimes struck them as atrociously unfair. In a dozen years of interstellar exploration humanity had met no other alien races beyond the kya, and in consequence humans had little practice in dealing with outworlders.

Ray took an alcohol-fueled cab to the Zgorch airport. The airport was a busy place, with winged, propeller-driven vehicles buzzing over and along its concrete runways and hangars. As the cab dropped him off at the terminal he saw signs of human presence at the airport. The control tower had been fitted out with microwave radar and navigational aids, and one of the aircraft on the main taxiway sported repulsors instead of wings and props. Inside the terminal, scores of furry kya moved through the lobby while hidden loudspeakers oozed anesthetically-soft music into the air. The kya, Ray thought, were never going to forgive humanity for teaching them about Muzak.

“Mr. Bennett?” a woman said from behind him.

Ray turned around and saw the scrawniest human he had ever met. At least she had a full head of dark brown hair; the current Mohican style would have intensified her skeletal look. He guessed she was anorexic. “Elizabeth Sheffield,” she said, greeting him with a kya-style bow. “I’m from the HSA at Vrekle U.”

“The HSA?” he asked, returning the bow.

“The Human Students Association,” Eizabeth said. “We like to meet new students as soon as they land. It helps to avoid problems with newcomers.”

“You’re a student?” Ray asked her.

“A teacher and a student,” she said. “I teach a class in human history, and I’m taking classes in kya history—I’m working on a doctoral degree in comparative history. Do you know where the cafeteria is?” she added.

“Down that way,” Ray said, pointing across the lobby. “Why?”

“I didn’t have the time for breakfast.” Elizabeth checked her watch. “The shuttle isn’t due for a half-hour, so—”

“You can’t eat here,” Ray said. He had skipped breakfast as well, a necessity he now regretted. “The cafeteria doesn’t have human-type food.”

“I brought my pills.” Elizabeth patted her vest pocket, then gave Ray a puzzled look. “Enzyme pills, and you don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” Ray admitted, as they walked towards the airport cafeteria. “You mean they’ve found a way for us to eat local food without poisoning ourselves?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “It was a UN project. The enzymes break down Kya proteins and carbohydrates into substances our bodies can use, and neutralize whatever doesn’t fit our metabolisms. It costs less than importing our meals from Earth.”

“That’s probably why the UN didn’t tell me,” Ray said in irritation. His grocery bill ate up a respectable chunk of his income. “I’m not exactly in good odor at the embassy.”

“They can be petty,” Elizabeth said. They entered the cafeteria, where a young kya worked behind a long buffet table. “The stripleaf salad smells great,” Elizabeth told her, switching to Wideplain.

“It’s fresh from Sglunk Valley,” the server said, taking a deep, happy sniff.

“You don’t get that sweet scent anywhere else! Double serving?”

Elizabeth nodded. “We’ll have some tangleberry juice, too, please.”

“Separate plates and glasses, please,” Ray added. The kya carried communal living too far for his tastes.

The dining area was a simple open floor; the kya had evolved from grazing herd animals, and they liked to move around as they ate. The cafeteria had no other customers at the moment, and the two humans dined alone, balancing trays while they ate. Elizabeth gave Ray a large pill, and he eyed it dourly while she washed down her own pill with some murky green juice. “There’s nothing to worry about,” Elizabeth told him. “I’ve been using these pills for the past six months, and they haven’t failed me yet.”

“It’s just going to take some getting used to,” Ray said. He took the pill with some juice, which tasted better than he had expected. “Before I came here they drilled it into me that you could kill yourself eating the local food.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Elizabeth said, taking a forkful of salad. “What can you tell me about Faber? I hear he’s an athlete, and he wants to play bagdrag. Is that true?”

Ray nodded. “He was a big-name football player back in Colorado.”

“Good,” she said. “Putting a good human athlete on the team will impress the kya. What’s his scholastic background?”

“He’s got a 2.6 average,” Ray said. Her face fell at that. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “You need a pretty high average to join the bagdrag team; playing is a reward for scholastic excellence, like getting on the dean’s list back home. We may have to tutor him. What’s his major?”

“Education. I was told he wants to study kya classroom techniques, compare them to ours, and see if he can mix them into something better.”

Her frown had turned into a scowl. “That’s a project for a doctoral student, not somebody with a C-plus average.”

“It is?” A 2.6 average had sounded great to Ray; there had been times during his college career when he would have killed for grades that good. He looked at his salad, then worked up the nerve to take a forkful of the chopped-up green leaves. He decided it tasted like lawn clippings. “I guess I’m not that hungry,” he said.

“Stir it up,” Elizabeth said. “The dressing always runs to the bottom of the bowl.”

Ray did that, and found that the watery dressing helped the taste. “You really like this, don’t you?” he asked as she demolished her salad. She had an impressive appetite.

“ ’Sd’licious,” she said around a mouthful of salad. “Anyway. What does the UN embassy have against you?”

Talking gave Ray an excuse not to eat. “I’m a linguist,” he said. “I came here a year ago to translate a sci-fi book for a kya writer. Aside from the fact that everyone at the embassy hated the book, they don’t like the idea of the kya doing business independent of them. The UN wants to control everything that comes in here—money, ideas, equipment, people.”

“I know about their policies,” Elizabeth said in obvious annoyance. “I’ve taken some heat from them over my history class. They’re afraid I’ll give the kya an inferiority complex, because our technology is ahead of theirs.”

“Do you?” Ray asked. “Give them an inferiority complex?”

“I don’t think so,” Elizabeth said. “The kya don’t seem to be capable of feeling inferior; their sense of herd-identity gives them a degree of security.” She took some more salad. “How about you? I take it you’re more than a linguist now?”

“I’ve been working as a business and literary agent,” Ray told her. “Right now my only clients are a few kya writers, and there’s not much of a market for kya literature back home. I’ve been trying to network with some kya business folk, but so far I haven’t had much luck. Anyway, you mentioned avoiding problems. Do you have any trouble at Vrekle?”

“Nothing serious,” Elizabeth said. “There are a few students who don’t like having us there. Usually they’re just reacting to something we’ve done wrong, so the trick is making sure newcomers know how to act.” The loudspeaker on the dining room wall went skreewonk, then gabbled incomprehensibly. “That’s Faber’s flight,” Elizabeth said dubiously. “At least, I think they said something about a spaceship.”

“It’s about time for his shuttle to land,” Ray agreed, while wondering if it was a universal constant that airport announcements had to be unintelligible. “Let’s go.”

They went outside. The morning air above Zgorch Aerodrome was clear and calm, and as Ray scanned the sky he saw a silver gleam appear high in the west. It grew rapidly as it came in. At the last moment it slowed and made a dignified landing on the concrete taxiway, a silver gumdrop resting on four legs.

Ray and Elizabeth walked up to it as the landing ramp unfolded. A score of humans and kya walked out of the lander. One of them was a tall, massive blond man, and even without the information Ray had received from his clients he could guess that this was Faber. “Richard Faber?” Ray asked as he approached him.

“Uh-huh. Who’re you?”

“Ray Bennett. I’m working for—”

“Oh, yeah.” He looked down at the ground, then hopped a few inches into the air. “Hey. They said the gravity was low here. It feels just like home.”

“Kya’s gravity is 91 percent of Earth-normal,” Elizabeth said.

Faber looked irritated. “What’s that mean?”

“It means you weigh about nine-tenths of what you weigh back home,” she said.

“What’s that mean?” Faber repeated.

Elizabeth sighed. “It means you weigh almost as much as you did on Earth.”

“Oh,” Faber said in disappointment. “I thought you could jump a mile here, like on the Moon.”

“I’m afraid not,” Ray said. He exchanged an apprehensive look with Elizabeth. If Faber wasn’t a lot brighter than he seemed, there was going to be trouble.

The UN embassy was a large building in a respectable part of the city. The morning after Faber’s arrival Ray took a bus to it from his rented home and entered the lobby, where the receptionist—a lean young woman named Delores, who wore her red hair in a narrow Mohican crest—tried to ignore him as he stood in front of her desk. “I’m here to see—”

“Ambassador Nyquist is busy,” Delores said, without looking up from her computer pad. “Make an appointment.”

“—About getting some enzyme pills,” Ray finished.

The woman looked up. “What about them?”

Ray sighed. “According to article twelve, paragraph fifty-three of the Interstellar Operating Code of the UN Diplomatic Service, you are required—”

“—To assist all UN citizens on nonhuman planets.” Visibly irked, the redhead tapped something into her pad. “So you can read. I’m impressed. Here.” A sheet of paper extruded itself from her desk’s printer. She handed it to Ray.

“An application?” Ray asked, peering at the fine print.

“We can’t just give the pills away,” Delores said. “Fill that out and the pharmacy will put you on its list.”

“OK.” Ray found a chair and sat down. Filling out the form was an awkward task. Although he had excellent penmanship, the form came with dozens of tiny spaces that seemed meant for a Lilliputian hand and pen.

Ray had almost finished the task when Ambassador Nyquist emerged from his office. “Mister Bennett,” he said. “It’s been a while.”

“About a year,” Ray said. The last time Ray had seen the ambassador, Nyquist had been doing his best to force Ray out of business and off Kya. To judge by the gleam in Nyquist’s eye, his attitude towards Ray hadn’t changed. “Is there a problem?”

“No, no, not at all,” Nyquist said. “I heard you were here, and I just wondered if you were having a problem?” Ray thought he sounded hopeful.

“No, no, not at all,” Ray said. He gestured with the form. “I’m here to apply for some enzyme pills.”

“You are? Well, I’m not sure how long it will take to fulfill your requisition, but we’ll do our best to expedite the matter. By the way, how is your business?”

“I’m hanging on,” Ray said.

“So I’ve heard.” Nyquist sat down on the other side of the writing table. “Of course, you’re barely making a profit, even with that deal you just signed with Vrekle University. It hardly seems worth it, especially with all the trouble you’re causing.”

Ray struggled to sound innocent. “I hope I’m not causing you any problems.”

“Not you, personally,” Nyquist said, and sighed. “But Vrekle itself—their dean has been in contact with several people on Earth. She wants to purchase a rather large assortment of scientific and cybernetic equipment.”

“Is that illegal?” Ray asked.

Nyquist grimaced. “Unfortunately, no. Some rather greedy American corporations have made it impossible for the UN to restrict dangerous exports to Kya. They’re more interested in profits than in avoiding damage to the development of kya society.”

“I don’t see where giving them computers and lab gear will hurt them,” Ray said. “We did all right.”

“We made our own discoveries,” Nyquist countered. “By injecting advanced science and technology into kya society, we could rob them of the need to discover things on their own. They could become parasitical on humanity, atrophying into a world which depends on us to fulfill their needs. You should reconsider what you’re doing to them.”

Ray didn’t respond to that. It was plausible, he admitted—and if he argued, Nyquist might delay his requisition. “I’ll think about that,” he said.

Nyquist took the requisition. “You do that.”

Bagdrag received its name, Ray had learned, because the center of the game was a bag of sand which weighed almost two hundred pounds. The game was played by three teams on a hexagonal field. Three of the sides were home goals, and a team scored one point every time it carried the bag across its scoring line at the field’s edge. The other three sides of the hexagon were shared goals, and two teams could win two points apiece by cooperating to carry the bag across the line between their home goals. When it came to competition, Ray thought, the kya just didn’t get it.

A week after Faber’s enrollment at Vrekle, Ray walked past the school’s bagdrag field on his way to the lecture halls. The field was occupied by three teams, who were busily shoving and snorting as they hauled a weathered gray bag across the grassy field. Ray looked, but he didn’t see Faber among the crouching, hairy figures loping around the field.

Ray checked his notepad. Its compass display pointed him toward one of the lecture halls, where he had been told he would find Elizabeth Sheffield. He went into the tan-colored dome, and blinked against the dim light. Finding Elizabeth might take a while, he reflected; there were at least five hundred kya in the amphitheater.

He changed that estimate at once when he heard her amplified voice. Her scarecrow figure stood on the round stage at the center of the hall, where a holographic projector displayed a two-yard tall bust of Abraham Lincoln. “Unlike the kya and your herd instinct,” Elizabeth was saying in Wideplain, “we humans have something which is best described as a tribal instinct. As herd beings, you kya tend to hold one another in almost equal regard, while giving your nominal leaders a minimum of authority. When you receive an order, the average kya will stop to wonder how obedience to that order will effect everyone else.

“On the other hand, we humans tend to defer to what we call an ‘authority figure.’ ” As Ray took a seat he heard hundreds of pencils scribble down that term. “An authority figure can be a deity, a parent, an athlete, an entertainer, a politician—basically, anyone who is powerful or famous. The average human tends to give unthinking allegiance to such a figure. Sometimes this has benefits, as it gives the leader the cooperation needed to solve otherwise intractable problems. However—” The image of Lincoln winked out, to be replaced by a projection of Adolf Hitler. “—Sometimes they are problems.”

Ray listened to Elizabeth’s lecture for the next hour or so. Most of it sounded vaguely familiar; he hadn’t taken a history course since high school, but he had watched a lot of war movies. The lecture ended and the kya students began to leave the lecture hall. “—Going to have nightmares for a year,” Ray heard one say. “And I thought we had problems,” another gronked on the way to the exit.

Ray went to the stage, where Elizabeth was discussing her lecture with a group of students. “I don’t understand it, either,” she told them. “Killing millions of people in a war makes no sense, not when the purpose of war is supposed to be taking control of the enemy. Sometimes it seems like a ritual display of aggression—‘I can kill more people than you can, so I’m the better leader.’ We’ll discuss that in the next lecture.”

The talk broke up and Elizabeth extracted a cartridge from the projector. “Interesting talk,” Ray said.

“Thanks.” She grinned at him. “Are you thinking of enrolling?”

“No, I’m scared of taking tests,” Ray said. “I just came here to ask you how Faber is doing.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Well, it’s the start of a new semester. He’ll settle down soon enough.”

“Is he a problem?” Ray asked.

“Do I have a comer on the pipestem market?” Elizabeth rubbed her bony chin. “He’s not stupid, but— well, maybe you should talk to him. Let’s go to the dorm.”

They walked out of the lecture hall and crossed the campus. The grounds reminded Ray of some of Earth’s better colleges, with clusters of buildings placed amid expansive lawns and gardens. The main difference, he thought as he looked at one group of students, was that typical human students did not graze on the shrubbery.

Elizabeth noticed his gaze. “It cuts down on the gardening bills,” she said.

“I’ll bet it does,” Ray said. “Speaking of food, how long does it take the embassy to deliver those enzyme pills?”

“No time at all,” Elizabeth said. “Are you having trouble with them?”

Ray nodded. “They tell me that there’s a two-week processing period, followed by a six-week shipping period. And it’s a hundred IMUs a week.”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows went up. “Boy, they must really hate you. Whenever I need some pills, I go to the embassy and they give me a month’s supply for ten IMUs.”

“I see.” Ray thought black thoughts about Nyquist as they walked to the dormitory complex. The ambassador couldn’t run him off the planet, not officially, but he could do his best to inconvenience him.

The dorms were a collection of small buildings placed on a hillside at the edge of the campus. Despite their size Ray knew that each building housed a score of kya students, who lived, dined, studied and slept in a single common room. Given the human need for privacy and spacious rooms, the human dorm stood out by its size. It had been erected a few years ago, and it looked like an apartment building, complete with a swimming pool and an enclosed patio.

“We’re also downwind of the other buildings,” Elizabeth told Ray as they entered the lobby. It was cleaner than he had expected, and he reminded himself that the people here were carefully picked graduate students. They would have outgrown the slovenliness he recalled from his own freshman days. “Most kya don’t mind our scent, but our cooking drives them up the wall.”

“You mean the smell of cooking meat,” Ray said. The kya were strictly herbivorous, and while they had exterminated most of their world’s larger predators they still regarded meat-eating with unease. “I know. I’m renting a house in town. I had to turn vegetarian because the neighbors complained whenever I ate meat.”

Elizabeth nodded. “We had trouble last term when we had a barbecue. The wind shifted and blew the smoke across campus, and five thousand kya were ready to stampede through here.” She looked around the lobby and spotted a young man, who lay sprawled on a couch as he read a kya medical textbook. “Toshio, have you seen Faber anywhere?”

“Yeah.” The student waved a hand toward the stairs. “Reek Hard is hitting up on Grace,” he said.

“ ‘Reek Hard’?” Ray asked quietly, as he followed Elizabeth up the stairs. He’d heard the kya mispronounce Faber’s name that way. It didn’t sound good if humans had picked up that variation.

“Faber likes that nickname,” Elizabeth said. “He thinks athletes need a mean-sounding name.”

“Oh.”

Ray saw Faber as they reached the top of the stairs. He was leaning against a doorjamb as he spoke to a short, dainty-looking black woman with an unruly Mohican haircut. She looked far from happy with Faber’s attention, although he seemed blissfully unaware of that. “Richard,” Elizabeth said, “Ray wants to see you.”

“Can it wait?” Faber asked. “Me and Grace are planning what we’re doin’ tonight.”

“I’m studying,” Grace said firmly. “Don’t let me keep you from your visitor.” She scurried away from Faber with the speed and agility of an Olympic gymnast.

Faber looked irked as she vanished. “These poindexters are weird,” he said. “All they do is study. Hey, I wanted to ask you about that. Studying, I mean. They told me I have to take a bunch of classes?”

“That’s right,” Ray said.

“What for?” he asked. “C’mere.” He led Ray and Elizabeth into his room. The walls were decorated with football posters and pin-ups; Ray decided that Faber had two interests in life.-“Look it this crap,” Faber said, picking up a textbook. “They got me studying algebra. What moron saddled me with that?”

“I did,” Elizabeth said. “It’s the simplest math course—”

“I know you did it,” Faber said, chucking the book onto his bed. “But who needs math? I mean, if you really care what x-squared equals, why not ask an AI? That’s why we invented them. And why study poetry where the words don’t even rhyme, or this old language called Longvalley that they don’t even speak any more?”

“The purpose of education is to expand your mind,” Elizabeth said. “Maybe you’ll never need algebra or Longvalley in your life, but you will need your mind.”

“I like my mind the way it is,” Faber said. “And all this studying is cutting into my practice. I never had to study like this in Colorado.”

“This isn’t Colorado,” Ray said. “The rule here is that playing bagdrag is a reward for good grades.”

Faber grunted in disgust. “How can you get together a good team that way? Don’t these people know anything?”

Count to ten, Ray told himself, as in your 10 percent commission. “Have you been practicing?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’ve been getting in an hour or two every day,” Faber said. “Bagdrag is a mick, but if you and GSN want me to play good—” he jabbed a massive finger into Ray’s chest, “—you’d better cut me some slack with the books.”

Ray left the room with Elizabeth and went downstairs. “I can see why he likes his mind as it is,” Elizabeth said. “It’s obviously in mint condition.”

“I noticed,” Ray said bleakly. “You mentioned tutoring. Would that help?”

“It might,” Elizabeth said. “If we can get him to apply himself. And if we can find someone willing to work with him. Nobody here likes being around him. He thinks the boys are nerds and the girls are bimbos-in-waiting.”

“I was thinking of hiring some kya tutors,” Ray said.

“With his manners?”

“I guess not,” Ray said.

“Maybe we can work something out,” Elizabeth suggested. “Why don’t we discuss it over dinner? I know a good restaurant.”

The “good restaurant” turned out to be much like the airport cafeteria. The dining area was an open floor, where groups of kya wandered around with cups and small bowls. The buffet tables were larger than the one at the airport, however, with a wider selection of food, and a band that played what Ray assumed were hit tunes.

After Elizabeth gave Ray an enzyme pill she led him to one of the tables and helped him pick out a course. “We’ll come back for the second course when that’s done,” she said as she picked up a large glass of juice. “Don’t worry about sharing the bowl with me, and let me know when you’re thirsty. And if someone walks up and takes a bite from our bowl, talk to him. Sharing food is one way they introduce themselves.”

“OK,” Ray said reluctantly. He told himself it would be similar to dining in a Japanese restaurant—not that he had ever done that. “How often do you come here?” he asked, as they moved out onto the floor.

“All the time,” she said, scooping some shredded leaves from the bowl. “The food’s great, there’s always someone interesting here, and the band is the tops. Now try the knotvine.”

Ray did so, and found that it tasted like chocolate, only better. He was about to take more when a kya shuffled up to him and plucked some shredded knotvine from his bowl. “Rabenit, isn’t it?” he asked. His fur was thick and fluffy, a handsome thing by kya standards. “Talking with Dean Zelk, she told me I couldn’t mistake your scent.”

“Call me ‘Ray,’” Ray said, and introduced Elizabeth. “Always glad to meet a friend of the dean’s.”

“Likewise,” the kya said. “I’m Ghorf, of the Easthills Combine. Dining here all the time, I don’t believe I’ve scented you here before.”

“Elizabeth is introducing me to kya cuisine,” Ray said. Then, recognizing a business opportunity when he saw one, he went on, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“A good deal, I hope. Hold your breath if I’m being rude, but is it true you’re not part of the Dirt embassy?”

Ray smiled, although he wished the kya wouldn’t be so literal about translating “Earth” into their language. “It’s true.”

The kya sniffed in delight. “Dining with Zelk the other night, she mentioned that I might be able to hire human agronomists through you. Being a farming organization, the Combine is always looking for ways to improve crop yields. Reading about Dirtly agriculture, I’ve heard you people do fantastic things with your sciences. Naturally we’ll pay well.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Ray said. “It might be expensive, but I’m sure there are some people who would like to work here.”

Ghorf sniffed in delight. “Not wishing to smell rude, I still have to say that your embassy wasn’t this cooperative.”

“I understand.” Ray agreed to visit Ghorf’s office to learn more about his needs, and then the kya wandered off among the other diners. As he left his muzzle twitched mightily—in pleasure, Ray hoped.

Elizabeth offered Ray a drink from her cup. “They like doing business over meals,” she said. “Maybe that’s why the embassy doesn’t want to sell you any pills.”

“Could be,” Ray agreed. That would cut down on opportunities such as this. He had to admit that Nyquist could be a subtle man. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

“My pleasure.” She gestured at his bowl, which was empty. “Time for the next course.”

“That’ll teach me to talk while you eat,” he said, following her back to the buffet. She had steadily packed away the knotvine during his conversation with Ghorf, leaving an empty bowl. “Hold your breath if I’m being rude—”

She laughed at the kya expression, “—But how can I eat so much and still be so skinny?”

“I wasn’t going to put it that way,” he said.

“Allergies,” she said, as she scooped spoonfuls of small white beans into Ray’s bowl. “My body stopped producing some enzymes a few years ago, which means I can’t digest dairy products and most grain products. Plus my immune system freaked out on me, so I’m allergic to even more things.”

“That must be why you’re so underweight,” Ray said. “Malnutrition, right? It doesn’t do you any good to eat things if you can’t digest them.”

She nodded. “A lot of things are as nutritious as sawdust to me—or worse. Sawdust wouldn’t start a histamine reaction, or inflame my small intestine, which keeps me from absorbing whatever nutrients I can get out of food—and as a bonus, that inflammation makes everything, uh, speed right through me. I’d eat some bread, or an egg, or have a soft drink, and be sick for days. After a while it seemed everything I ate did that to me.” She looked wry. “At times I thought I’d have to eliminate food from my diet.”

Ray nodded thoughtfully. It was the same problem humans had on all alien worlds; evolution had fitted Terran organisms to one specific environment, which did not include exotic biochemicals. On different worlds alien bacteria poisoned the roots of plants in unEarthly soils, insect bites touched off histamine reactions, and airborne spores blighted lung membranes as they were inhaled. Compared to most worlds, Kya was a benign place for unprotected humans. “I’m surprised that you’re not allergic to kya food,” Ray said.

“Thank the pills,” Elizabeth told him. “They digest all the nutrients, and the human immune system doesn’t react to the break-down products. When I found out about that it made moving to Kya look like a good idea. Now I’m not sick all the time, I don’t have to wonder if there’s some allergen in what I’m eating, and I’ve gained twenty pounds.”

“And you can eat in restaurants,” Ray said.

“Exactly.” She looked him over as she refilled the glass. “Not many people would think of that.”

“It seems obvious,” Ray said. “You can’t expect a chef to be a dietitian, too.”

She nodded. “I really missed going to restaurants, and calling out for a hoagie. That’s one reason I like Kya; I can dine out. Plus, the kya are a blast, and trying to understand their history is fun—I’m taking four classes this semester and enjoying every minute of it.”

“I heard your lecture the other day,” Ray said. “You seem to enjoy teaching them, too.”

She nodded vigorously. “Explaining human history to them is fun. And with the way they look at things, I’m getting some new perspectives on human history.”

“I think you scared the daylights out of your class,” Ray said.

“I know.” She looked unhappy. “I try not to frighten them, but it isn’t easy. I have to give them an idea of what we’re like, and I can’t make it all sugar and light.”

Ray nodded; explaining the human predilection for dictators could be awkward. However—“You need a lighter approach,” he said. “It might help if you told them about one of our evolutionary cousins.”

“You think so?” She looked interested. “Which one? Gorillas? Baboons?”

“Lemmings.”

She looked startled, then laughed.

Ray spent the next morning at Ghorf’s office. The executive was only able to speak with Ray for a moment, but after he left his assistants outlined the Easthills Combine’s business needs and investment resources. Ray wasn’t certain just how far their money would go. While wealthy by kya standards, the Combine was handicapped by an unfavorable exchange rate. The kya had few products which were worth importing to Earth, and that made their currency almost worthless.

As Ray left Ghorf’s office he realized that the kya had an untapped resource. With their sense of smell, they might have agricultural techniques unknown on Earth; they might be able to smell the differences in soil types and nutrients, or sniff out pests and diseases. He decided to consult with the agricultural experts at Vrekle University, and see if it would be worth sending a few of them to Earth to sweeten any trade agreement.

With that in mind, Ray paid Dean Zelk a visit. The possibility of making a good deal had placed him in a pleasant mood, but his cheer faded as he entered the dean’s office. Nyquist stood in front of Zelk’s desk with a folder of fax papers, while the dean looked unhappy. “Well, Mr. Bennett,” the ambassador said. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”

“I imagine it is,” Ray said. “What brings you here?”

“A client of yours, one Richard Faber. As I was just telling Dean Zelk, there are irregularities in his grades. I have the facts here.” Nyquist gave the folder to Zelk, who silently looked through the papers. Ray looked over her shoulder and saw an assortment of transcripts, letters and news-fax clippings. Heisman Candidate May Face Criminal Investigation, one headline declared. “During his sophomore year in Colorado he had a GPA of 2.6, but he didn’t earn it. His higher grades were given by some complaisant instructors who wanted him to remain on his school’s football team; his actual GPA was 1.1. Faber himself may not have been knowingly involved in any criminal actions in this matter, but—”

“I get the point,” Ray said.

“—His hasty departure from Earth suggests that he was not as pure as the driven snow,” Nyquist concluded. “Especially as his uncle bribed a few people in Immigration to turn a blind eye to the situation. Dean Zelk will have to expel him, since he was admitted under false pretenses. It’s a pity that your business arrangement will collapse, especially as GSN will want its advance payment returned—I believe the contract requires that? Pity.” He left.

“Sneeze on him,” Zelk muttered after the door had closed. “Being the dean, nobody tells me how to run my school.”

Ray nodded. “Is there any way you can keep Faber in school?” Returning his commission on the advance, he reflected, would bankrupt him— which was probably what Nyquist wanted. Now that it was too late, he saw that he had a lot to learn about his business.

“There must be a way to keep Faber in,” Zelk said grimly. “Having already spent the advance, we can’t afford anything else. This being a new situation, however, I’m not sure what we can do. There aren’t any rules or guidelines.”

“Then you can make them up as you go along,” Ray said. “How long will it be until Faber earns some grades here?”

“The primary exams are in another twenty days or so,” Zelk said. “I suppose we could judge him on their basis. But if he does badly—” She exhaled grimly. “He’s out.”

“He’s out, we’re out, everyone’s out,” Ray said. “I’ll make sure he understands that conjugation.”

Ray consulted his notepad as he left the dean’s office. It told him that Faber should be in bagdrag practice now. Ray let the pad lead him to the hexagonal field, where the student players had divided into three teams and were avidly hauling the bag across the grass. Even wrapped in the helmet and quilted pads which the players used for protection, Faber’s bulk and erect posture stood out amid his kya teammates.

A short, chunky kya with grizzled fur and a heavily wrinkled muzzle approached Ray as he watched the practice. “Coach Znayu,” he gronked. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Faber,” Ray said. “How is his playing?”

“The terror from beyond the ozonosphere?” The coach shook his head in what seemed like amazement. “Reek Hard’s the best offensive player I’ve ever seen. Point him at a goal line and he’s unstoppable. Just watch him.”

Ray watched as the teams shoved and ran their way through several more plays. He could make nothing out of the plays and Faber’s activities; sometimes the teams dropped the bag and began to push one another around, and sometimes a group of kya stampeded over the bag, pushing away the players who carried it. At other times most of the players stood around while a few of their teammates ran back and forth and talked with one another. “Who’re they?” Ray asked the coach.

“The outrunners,” Znayu said. “You don’t know the game?”

“It’s new to me,” Ray admitted. “Could you give me a few pointers?”

Znayu sniffed agreeably. “Being the brains of each team, the outrunners coordinate plays among the three teams. Maybe in one play the Grass-scents will think they can do better if they work with the Tree-scents against the Flower-scents, and maybe in another play the Grasses like their chances against the other two teams in combination. During the plays they watch the other teams and tell their teammates what the opposition is doing. Then—stench! Stench!” The coach trotted onto the field and began to berate one of the teams over a technical foul.

Ray watched the outrunners as the play was repeated. He decided they looked like members of a herd, guarding the flanks to warn their compatriots against predators. They stayed out of the actual crush of the plays, although opposing players sometimes positioned themselves to block their view of the action. Maybe I am learning something, Ray thought.

The coach called a break and the players went to the sidelines. Ray went to where Faber was refreshing himself from a water bucket. “We have a problem,” Ray said in English. “Nyquist just told Dean Zelk about your grades in Colorado.”

“He did?” Faber swore. “I told Uncle Dick this wouldn’t work.”

“ ‘Uncle Dick’?”

“Richard McIlvaine. He owns the Galactic Sports Network. I’m named after him,” Faber added proudly.

“Oh.”

Faber nodded. “Anyway, the NCAA put the heat on the school about grades, like anyone really expects athletes to waste their time studying, and all the reporters were saying how everyone oughta go to jail, so Uncle Dick suggested I transfer before the weenies did something bad, like expel me, and he thought maybe I should come here, because I wouldn’t take any heat if I got off-planet, and anyway he wanted to see if there was an audience for alien sports, and putting me on a bagdrag team would maybe help make me look good back home. Or something like that.”

“I see.” Ray felt his head ache. “Dean Zelk told me she’ll expel you if you don’t get good grades in the next exams. You won’t be allowed to play if you don’t get good grades in the next exams. You won’t be allowed to play if you don’t get excellent grades.”

“Uncle Dick won’t let anyone push me around like that,” Faber said.

“Don’t count on that,” Ray said. “Zelk won’t let anyone push her around, and—”

Ray was the one who got pushed around, as Faber planted his hand on his chest and shoved. Ray sprawled on the grass as Faber stomped away from him. For a moment he was angry enough to jump up and fight Faber, but the thought of the inevitable outcome brought him to his senses.

Besides, he knew a better way to handle Faber.

Ray went to the embassy after his meeting with Faber. Delores kept him waiting for several hours before admitting Ray to the communications room. At least they can’t prohibit me from making calls, Ray thought; the UN required the embassy to give all UN citizens equal access to its t-radio system. Ray made several calls to agricultural associations before he found one which seemed interested in doing business with the kya. Ray made some tentative arrangements with the company, then placed a call to Richard McIlvaine.

McIlvaine answered with a cranky noise. “Any idea what time it is?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry,” Ray began, “but Earth and Kya are in different time zones.”

“Kya? This about my nephew?”

“Yes,” Ray said. “Your nephew is in trouble at Vrekle.”

“What? Richie’s a good kid. How can he be in trouble?”

“He isn’t studying,” Ray said, “and somebody told the dean that his grades were inflated at Colorado—”

“That’s a lie,” McIlvaine said. “Richie studied hard. Anyway he had nothing to do with it. The board of trustees arranged the whole thing without telling the players.”

“I’m sure they did,” Ray said, “but now the problem is at Vrekle. Richie won’t be able to stay in school, much less play bagdrag, if he doesn’t improve his grades right away.”

McIlvaine growled. “We’ve got a contract,” he said. “If that alien school sticks it to me, I’ll sue.”

“They’re within their rights to expel your nephew,” Ray said. “But I may have a way to straighten this out.”

Mcllvaine grunted in annoyance. “Talk.”

“Your nephew doesn’t like it here. He’s rooming with some grad students, and there’s a lack of potential girlfriends—”

“Tough,” McIlvaine said. “Nobody’s making him hang out with a bunch of poindexters, and if he thinks I’m going to ship him some broads, he’s nuts.”

“It would help if you made that clear to him,” Ray said. “Call him and let him know he’s stuck here if he doesn’t make the team.”

Mcllvaine grunted thoughtfully. “Might work. You’re not as dumb as I thought.” He broke the connection.

So far, so good, Ray thought. The next step would be to get someone to tutor Faber. Ray got up and left the radio room. Delores was waiting outside the door for him. “Are you through making trouble now?” she demanded.

“Trouble?” Ray asked. “What trouble?”

She eyed him coldly. “You don’t care what impact you have on the kya, just as long as you make a profit.”

“I don’t think I’m hurting the kya,” he said. “Has it occurred to anyone here that they aren’t stupid? Maybe they know their needs better than we do.”

“And maybe we know when something is dangerous,” Delores said. Her thin, red Mohawk enhanced her angry appearance; Ray found himself thinking of a buzz saw. “Has it occurred to you that we might be looking for a way to give them modem technology without disrupting their society? But you can’t make a profit that way, can you? Now get out of here!” She strode away from him, denying him the last word.

Dissatisfied, Ray took the bus to Vrekle University. When he got there, his notepad told him that Elizabeth was attending a class on medieval kya history. Well, he told himself, there are some things a man has to do for himself. Fight his own fights. Own up to his own mistakes. Ask decent, normal people to work with Faber. He couldn’t ask Elizabeth to do the dirty work for him.

A pair of students sat in the dorm’s lobby as they worked over a portable computer. One of them was Grace; the other was a young, overly-handsome man who sat next to her as though he was her boyfriend. “Jack’s been helping me with my research,” Grace said. “The kya have a dozen major schools of economic thought, but none of them use the same terms or measurements. Our translation program has been having fits.”

“It’s running now,” Jack said. “And the data-reduction puts everything on the standard curves. There’s even an analog to the Kondratieff cycle. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”

“What’s the difference?” Ray asked.

“Well, it’s bad because I was hoping to find something alien to put into my doctoral dissertation on comparative economics,” Grace said. “On the other hand, finding out that kya and human economies appear to obey identical laws suggests that there are universal constants in economics.”

“So economics isn’t as much of a dismal science as everyone claims,” Ray said. The computer displayed a set of curves that looked like a plate of schizophrenic spaghetti, and some equally tangled equations, a sight which gave him an idea. “Speaking of dismal, would you be interested in tutoring Faber in math?”

“No,” Grace said. “I’m an economist. What makes you think I’m a mathematician?”

“Just a feeling,” Ray said, looking at the display again.

“Liz already asked about that,” Jack said. “We’ll get someone to tutor Reek Hard—on one condition.”

“Name it,” Ray said. “You want him to stop pestering the women? Bathe every day? Learn English?”

“Just make him pay attention,” Jack said. “We’ll look after the louse, but not if it’s going to be a waste of time.”

“And not if he’s going to make us look bad by being a lazy goof,” Grace added. “Make him work.”

Ray smiled as he thought about his conversation with Faber’s uncle. “Consider it done.”

Ray returned to Vrekle a few days later to check on Faber. “Talking with Shevield, I’m told Vapor’s studying harder,” Dean Zelk said. “Several human students are tutoring him now. But, with a new problem arising, we may still lose out. Is it true that Vapor pushed you the other day?”

“Well, yes,” Ray said. “He lost his temper, but nothing came of it.” Nothing aside from an impressive bruise on the center of his chest, he thought idly.

Zelk exhaled in dismay. “Doing that, his behavior was unbecoming a Vrekle student. Having received some complaints from the student body, I may be forced to remove him from the team.”

Damn Faber, Ray thought. He still didn’t understand that the kya didn’t regard athletes as demigods. “Maybe you can explain what happened as alien behavior,” Ray suggested. “Some humans act like that when they get bad news, and I’d just told Vapor—uh, Faber, that he was in academic trouble. You could call it a ritual display of aggression.”

“I scent.” Zelk closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. “Maybe that will work. I’ll toss it on the wind and see who inhales. Meanwhile, it would help if you were seen publicly with Vapor, to show there are no hard feelings.”

“Is that important?” Ray asked. “I can’t say that I like him.”

“Aliens,” Zelk said in resignation. “I don’t know about your people, but to us, it really stinks when members of a herd are at odds. I already have enough trouble with protesters who say that humans are corrupting Vrekle. The team is going out for a trot today; you might tag along.”

The things I do for my commission, Ray thought. He left the office and headed toward the human dormitory. It was fairly early in the morning, and when he entered the dorm most of the human students were getting breakfast or preparing for their classes. Ray found Faber in the kitchen, where he was packing a lunch. “Uh, hi,” Faber said.

“Hello,” Ray said. Faber looked and sounded subdued, which struck Ray as an improvement. “I thought I’d tag along on the team’s run and see how you’re doing.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Faber said. “It’s only like five or six miles, or maybe kilometers, I think. We’ll be back in time for class. We’re leaving in a little while.”

“Fine. I’ll meet you outside.”

Ray left the kitchen and went into the dorm’s lobby. Elizabeth was on the phone, quietly gronking away in Wideplain. She nodded to Ray, then hung up. “That was Dean Zelk,” she said. “She asked me to keep an eye on you today.”

“Thanks,” Ray said. Zelk obviously didn’t trust Faber’s temper, which struck Ray as proof of her high intelligence. “Maybe I can repay the favor. How about dinner tonight?”

“I’d love it,” Elizabeth said. She glanced at the kitchen entrance. “What happened to Faber? He went to the embassy the other day and talked to Earth. I don’t know what was said, but it put the fear of God into him.”

“It’s more like the fear of celibacy,” Ray said, and described his conversation with McIlvaine. “He’s really studying?” he added.

“Not only that, he got a perfect score on the dummy quiz Alexei gave him last night,” Elizabeth said. “We’ll make a student out of him yet. Give me a minute to change.” She went upstairs.

A short while later Ray, Elizabeth and Faber were trotting away from the campus with the rest of the bagdrag team, following the chunky coach into the grassy hills east of the campus. The team had brought along a large bag, which the players took turns carrying. “Lunch,” Elizabeth puffed as she trotted between Ray and Faber. “This is how prehistoric kya herds took food across wastelands. Used reed baskets and hollowed-out tree trunks. Surrounded the carriers with guards. Had to protect the goodies from other herds.”

Which is where bagdrag comes from, Ray guessed. He said nothing. He wasn’t in top shape, and he didn’t want to waste any breath on speech. At least Faber didn’t have a problem; he was barely working up a sweat. The team stopped for a break after traveling five miles or so. The coach picked a rest site under a clump of trees, and Ray sat down, pulled off his shoes and checked his feet for blisters. Elizabeth sat down next to him, gave him a pill and handed him a bottle of juice from the bag. “How are your feet?”

“A bit sore, but OK. How are you doing?”

“Not too bad.” Like Ray, she was sweaty and out of breath. “We’ll rest for a half-hour before we head back.”

“Good.” Ray swallowed the pill with the juice. Whatever it was, the drink revived him. He went to the bag, where the various players were picking out clumps of fruits and vegetables. Ray took a large cluster of orange leaves and brought it back to Elizabeth. “Better not to eat too much,” she said, taking a leaf. “It’s a long way back.”

Ray nodded, and was about to say something when Faber sat down with them. He gave the leaves a disdainful look. “Rabbit food,” he sneered, opening the lunch he’d packed. “You need real food if you’re going to work out.”

“We’re doing all right,” Elizabeth said.

“Aw, come on,” Faber said, giving her the eye. “You wouldn’t be so scrawny if you started eating some decent meals. You might even be cute with a little meat on your bones. Here.”

“No, thanks.” Elizabeth pulled back as he held out a chicken sandwich. “I’m Catholic. I won’t touch bread.” The comment sailed over Faber’s head, as did her obvious dislike for him. “There’s some knotvine in the bag,” Ray said, to give her an excuse to get away from Faber. “Let’s get some before it all disappears.”

Elizabeth got up and accompanied him to the lunch bag. “Thanks,” she muttered.

“Any time. Doesn’t he know about your allergies?”

“He read somewhere that there’s no such thing as an allergy, so he thinks it’s all psychosomatic.” She sighed, and switched from Wideplain to English. “The idiot. I thought I was at the bottom of his wish list. At least, Mr. Desperate hasn’t made any moves on me until now.”

“That was his idea of making a move?” Ray asked. “I can make better moves than that.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

Ray hesitated. He hadn’t been serious. On the other hand, he mused, he’d had worse ideas. “You’ll see,” he said.

They come to the lunch bag. Ray squeezed in amid the kya who were picking out food, found some knotvine and took a handful. As he walked away he overheard Faber talking with some of the players. “Right now I’d kill for a charbroiled steak,” he said.

Faber’s companions snuffled with nervous laughter. “I thought you had to kill anyway, to get a styake,” one said.

“We don’t kill anything for meat,” Faber said. “Just cattle. Jeeze, you people talk like we were cannibals.”

The kya sniffed in bafflement. “ ‘Cannibals’?” one repeated.

Ray went back to Elizabeth, sat down and shared the knotvine with her. By the time it was gone the team coach was smacking his hands together over his head. “All right, people, break’s over, let’s move!”

While some of the players closed up the lunch bag, Ray put his shoes back on. He was sealing the flaps around his ankles when he heard a long, loud groan. Looking up, he saw Faber drop to his knees as he clutched at his belly. His face had gone dead white. “What’s wrong?” Ray asked, going over to him.

“Dunno,” he grumbled in English. “Got a knot in my guts. Feel like I’m going to boot one, too.”

Elizabeth and several of the kya joined him. “What did you eat?” she asked.

“My stuff... some of that chocolate stuff, too.”

“Did you take an enzyme pill?” she asked.

“What for?” he gasped. “Just had a little.”

“We’d better get him to the embassy’s doctor,” Elizabeth said, as Faber lay down on the grass. She looked alarmed. “He’s poisoned himself.”

“How do we get him there?” Ray asked. The nearest vehicle was miles away, and Faber had to weigh close to two hundred pounds. “He’s in no shape to walk.”

“So we carry him,” one of the kya said. “We’re a bagdrag team, remember?”

“This smells more like mountain-drag,” another kya said, eyeing Faber as he rolled on the grass.

“Let’s go,” the coach said. “Herd one, take Reek Hard, herd two, get the lunch bag.”

“Hold it,” Elizabeth said, as eight kya grasped Faber by the arms, legs and belt. “You should carry him facedown. That way, if he throws up the vomit won’t drain into his lungs.”

“You heard her,” the coach said. The players rolled Faber onto his belly and lifted him again. He hung between the two groups of players like a lumpy, uncouth bag. “Let’s move it, people,” the coach called.

The team took off toward Vrekle. Ray and Elizabeth kept up alongside the group who carried Faber, who looked unconscious. “How bad is it?” Ray asked her.

“I don’t know,” she said. “He could go into shock or have convulsions. I wish we had an emetic; emptying his stomach would probably help.”

“We could stick a finger down his throat,” Ray suggested. “That would—”

“Aw, sneeze!” one of the kya toting Faber said.

“Did he throw up?” Ray asked.

“No, he went off at the other end.” The kya’s muzzle contorted in disgust.

“That’s a typical food allergy symptom,” Elizabeth said. “At least it’s getting the knotvine out of his system.”

“Oh.” The kya trotted on in stoic silence.

After a while the coach called for a change in the carriers. Seeing how the kya were suffering from the smell, Ray moved in and took hold of Faber’s belt, relieving one of the players of the unpleasant job. This will make Zelk happy, he thought as he jogged along. She had wanted him to make a public display of friendship with Faber. To judge by the way the kya looked at him as he helped carry Faber, they thought Ray was making the ultimate sacrifice for him.

“He’ll be all right,” Elizabeth told Ray that night, as they met outside the restaurant. “He started to dehydrate from the diarrhea, but the doctor pumped in the fluids and gave him epinephrine for the histamine reaction. He’ll be up and around in a few days.”

“Good,” Ray said. “I hope he’s going to be more careful. If Faber gets sick again and can’t play, we’re all in a lot of trouble.”

“It won’t happen again,” Elizabeth said. “That isn’t the sort of mistake you make twice.”

“I hope,” Ray said as they entered the restaurant. It was the same restaurant he and Elizabeth had visited before, and the buffet was well-stocked. Despite Faber’s misadventure Ray felt no qualms about dining; he realized he trusted the enzyme pills. They took their food and circulated among the other diners on the main floor. “Do the kya dance?” Ray asked, as the band struck up a new tune.

“No, they’re not built for it,” Elizabeth said.

“You are,” Ray said.

She looked wry. “ ‘Built’ is the last thing I’d call myself.”

“Oh?” He heard the self-deprecation in her tone. He didn’t care for that, especially not in someone he liked. “ ‘And yet, by Heaven, I think my love as rare, as any she belied with false compare.’ ”

“Huh?”

“That’s Shakespeare’s way of saying not to sell yourself short. I forget the rest of the sonnet,” he added.

“A sonnet?” She looked surprised, and pleased. “You were right. You do have some good moves.”

Ray was about to elaborate on that point when Ghorf found them. “There’s a problem,” the executive said. He took a fax paper from inside his cloak and handed it to Ray. “Calling on me today, your embassy delivered this. My sister reads some human, but she couldn’t brush the knots out of this fur—she says it doesn’t even look like human writing.”

“No, it is,” Ray said. English was the lingua franca of human visitors to Kya, and many kya had come to assume it was the only human language. “It’s Russian. That’s one of our languages.”

“You people have more than one language, too?” Ghorf asked. “Who’d have thought? Translating it, what does it say?”

“It’s from Moskva Mnogophermaya,” Ray said. “They’re an agricultural development company. They’re interested in doing business with you. They’re also interested in hiring some of your people on an experimental basis, to see if they can use your sense of smell in soil and plant analyses.”

That clearly pleased Ghorf. “It’s good to think we can teach your people something. Let’s keep downwind of one another on this.” Ghorf sauntered away, his muzzle twitching.

“It’s a good thing you speak Russian,” Elizabeth said.

Ray shrugged. “I speak seven languages. I told you I started out as a linguist. I still can’t get the hang of starting my Wideplain sentences with participle phrases, though. The kya must think I sound awful.”

“Having the same problem, I know how you feel,” Elizabeth said. They both laughed at that, and then Elizabeth spotted somebody across the dining floor. “Is that an old girlfriend?” she asked Ray.

Ray looked and spotted Delores, who had just passed through the door with two men. “Hardly. She works at the embassy, and she doesn’t like me.” She was glaring at Ray with the sort of expression generally displayed by betrayed lovers. “She looks madder than usual. I wonder what I did this time?”

The answer came a moment later, when Delores and her two companions, who were built to the same general specifications as Faber, approached Ray. “Can’t you take a hint, Bennett?” Delores said without preamble. Her escorts crossed their massive arms and loomed above Ray like an impending avalanche.

Ray hoped he didn’t look intimidated. “What hint?” he squeaked.

“About your business practices,” Delores said. She spoke in Wideplain, and she raised her voice so that all the diners could hear her. “Watching you at work, we know how you’re cheating Ghorf.”

“What are you talking about?” Ray asked.

“Dealing with him, you’ve got him thinking that he’s going to get wealthy off some huge business deal,” Delores said. “Misleading him like that, we’re going to try to have you deported. Stinking as your crimes do, we don’t want you fouling the air on Earth, either, but we can’t let you sneeze on the UN’s reputation by taking advantage of the kya.”

As Delores and her escorts walked away, Ray told himself that he had to admire her grasp of kya idioms and grammar. “Can they do that to you?” Elizabeth asked him in Wideplain.

Seeing the number of kya who were staring at him, Ray strained to phrase himself as grammatically as possible. “Having done nothing wrong, they have no basis for it. Hearing all this, I think it’s a mistake. Being concerned about humanity’s image, it’s natural that they’d react so strongly, even to a misunderstanding. Have some knotvine?”

Elizabeth seemed puzzled by his mild reaction, but she dipped her fingers into the bowl and took some of the food. The incident seemed to pass without drawing further interest from the kya—although, Ray noticed, Ghorf stayed on the other side of the dining floor for the rest of the evening.

“I thought about saying something strong,” Ray said later, after they had left the restaurant. It was a warm night, and he and Elizabeth had decided to walk the two miles back to the dorm. Kya lacked a moon, but the city lights provided a mild neon glow for walking. “But I remembered how Zelk reacted to the way Faber shoved me. The kya are a herd people, and they hate the idea of a split in the herd.”

“So you tried to act conciliatory?” Elizabeth wondered.

“I tried to act like a kya might,” Ray said. “Like there wasn’t a real problem. Word of this is going to get around, and I don’t want anyone thinking I’m so alien they can’t do business with me.”

“That’s good thinking,” Elizabeth said. “But I doubt that woman made a scene just for fun. She’s up to something.”

“The embassy wants to put me out of business,” Ray said. “The UN is afraid that I could do irreparable harm to the kya by giving them things—information, technology, whatever—before they’re ready to handle it.”

“Do you believe them?” Elizabeth asked.

“I don’t know,” Ray admitted. “It sounds reasonable, and God knows there are plenty of cases where people meant to do well and made a real mess.”

“I know.” She looked thoughtful. “Nobody can predict all the consequences of their actions, and if you try to do only harmless things, you’ll paralyze yourself. If something does go wrong because of you, all you can do is try to fix it.”

“I suppose so.” Then, noting that it was a warm and pleasant night, and that he had promised to show Elizabeth a few moves, he decided to investigate the consequences of some more interesting actions.

The grades for the semester’s first batch of tests were available two days after the last paper was handed in. Feeling like a condemned criminal who has only a vague hope of receiving a last-minute pardon, Ray went to Vrekle to see if three weeks of studying had had any lasting effect on Faber.

His notepad told him that Faber was in the dorm—as was Elizabeth, who should have been attending a world (kya) history class. Puzzled, Ray went to her room and tapped on the door. “Elizabeth?”

“Gargh.” The door opened. She stood there in her bathrobe, looking haggard and sleepless. “Oh. Hi. ’mon in.”

Ray blinked. “Are you OK?”

“Gagh.” She plopped down on the bed. “I’ve got a case of Proxmire’s Revenge that won’t quit.”

“What’s that?”

“What it sounds like.” She grimaced slightly. “I can identify some allergens by what they do to me. This feels like a milk allergy, except I can’t figure out how it happened. I always keep my food away from everyone else’s.”

“When did it start?” Ray asked.

“Yesterday afternoon.” She rubbed her eyes groggily. “ ’Bout a half-hour after we said good-bye...” She raised her head and peered at him. “What did you have for lunch yesterday?”

He shrugged. “Kya stuff. And some ice cream for dessert.”

“And then you gave me a kiss that made the Guinness Book of World Records,” she said.

“You’re allergic to me?” Ray asked, startled.

“No, to the ice cream. It only takes a little milk-sugar to set me off... and I thought you tasted awfully sweet.”

“I didn’t know you were that sensitive. I’m sorry.”

“ ’Sall right.” She managed a rickety grin. “It was worth it. You’re here to see Reek Hard?”

“Well, him, too,” Ray said. “I wanted to find out if he passed his tests.”

“Quit crossing your fingers, the creep made it—” She shook her head. “Sorry, Ray. Cramps always turn me into a bitch.” She grimaced again. “Had to cancel everything today.”

“That’s too bad. I was looking forward to taking you out to dinner.”

“I’ll be OK by tonight. Milk-sugar allergy clears up pretty fast.” She sat up and rubbed her temples. “How’s the business?”

“Not bad. Moskva Mnogophermaya sent me another mail fax yesterday. They made a good offer, and I’m going to advise Ghorf to accept.”

“Good.”

He nodded. “I’ll pick up a nice piece of change, which ought to tick off Nyquist. Say,” he went on, “who was Proxmire?”

“Huh? Oh.” Elizabeth shook her head again. “I’m not sure. I think he was the scientist who figured out that milk causes a certain type of allergy.”

That sounded reasonable to Ray. “Hell of a thing to be remembered for...” His voice trailed off as Elizabeth rose from the bed and lurched out of the room. Ray looked into the hall, and saw her vanish into the communal bathroom.

Faber was standing in the hallway. “Damned skinny broad,” he muttered, not noticing Ray. “Been hogging the can all day.” Then he saw Ray. “You’re wasting your time with her, Bennett. She doesn’t eat because she doesn’t like sex. That’s psychology.”

Ray looked at him in disdain; he had thought Faber’s experience with knotvine would have given him some empathy. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

“I’m kinda hung over,” Faber said, and belched. “Got my grades yesterday. Passed everything, so I can stop wasting time in class.”

“That’s what you think,” Ray said. “Cutting classes will get you in as much trouble as bombing a test.”

Faber glared at him and said words which approximated “You’re kidding me.”

“That’s how they do things here,” Ray said. “Clean up and get to your class.”

Faber kept glaring. “What are you, my guardian angel?”

“Think of me as a fallen angel,” Ray suggested. When he saw that Faber had missed his meaning he went on, “Either keep working, or learn to like what you’ll find in the kya version of Playboy.”

“Ack!” Faber retreated into his room.

Ray left the dorm and went home. He had lunch, then placed a phone call. “Easthills Combine,” a kya answered over the static-scratched wires.

“This is Ray Bennett. Calling now, I have good news for Ghorf. That being so, may I speak with him?”

“One moment.” After some clickings and quiet background gronkings, a new voice came on the line. “Ghorf speaking.”

“Ray Bennett. Moskva Mnogophermaya just sent me a fax. They’ve made a very good offer. That being so, I’d like to come to your office and discuss the terms.”

“No, no, you needn’t trouble yourself,” Ghorf said. “Working as well as you do, you can handle everything.”

“As you say.” As Ray hung up he wondered what was going on. Earth or Kya, it was strange for a highly-placed executive to leave the details of a big contract in somebody else’s hands. He hoped it was a sign of Ghorf’s trust in him ... but now that he thought of it, he hadn’t been face-to-face with Ghorf since their last encounter in the restaurant, several weeks ago. The executive seemed to be avoiding him. In light of the embassy’s attempt to poison his good name, that thought gave Ray qualms.

The Garrett P. Serviss entered Kya orbit and sent down a passenger shuttle three days before the first game of the bagdrag season. On the evening of the landing Ray, Elizabeth, and Dean Zelk went to Zgorch Aerodrome to greet the delegation from GSN. “This being important to him, I’m surprised Vapor didn’t turn out,” Zelk said as the shuttle landed.

“The HSA is having a barbecue,” Elizabeth said. “The wind is coming from the right direction for the first time this month, and they, uh, decided not to wait.”

“Oh,” Zelk said, shuddering over her memories of the last barbecue. Ray shuddered, but for a different reason. Hot dogs, hamburgers, spare ribs, T-bone steaks—he hadn’t had a meal like that since coming to Kya, and his stomach was never going to forgive him for turning down the Human Students Association’s dinner invitation. On the other hand, he consoled himself, Elizabeth had accompanied him to the airport because she couldn’t eat anything served at the barbecue, and there was a lot to be said for her company.

The lander deployed its ramp, and humans and robots debarked. A few tourists came first, followed by replacement staffers for the UN embassy, and then—“Oh, no,” Ray groaned, while Zelk let out a gronk of horror and disgust. Several men and women emerged from the ship wearing coon-skin coats and toting pennants that said Vrekle U. For all the world they looked like time-warped football fans from the Jazz Age.

Ray hurried up the ramp to the statuesque woman at the front of the group. “You’re from GSN?” he asked.

“That’s right,” she said, flipping open the front of her coat to reveal a GSN logo and ID badge. “Jan Jones, sportscaster. We’re here to cover the Big Game.”

Even through his dismay Ray heard the capital letters. “You’ll have to ditch those coats,” he said. “Fast.”

“What?” Jones asked. The sportscaster was a one-time Olympic decathlete with an imposing physique, which now helped to illustrate her annoyance. “These are authentic coon-skin coats. Do you know how much GSN shelled out for them?”

“Somebody made a mistake,” Ray said. “I’m Ray Bennett, the network’s business agent here. Believe me, you can’t wear those things here.”

“Why not?” one of the men asked. “Our PR department said it was a good idea. Their research team said that Kya’s a century behind us, and bagdrag’s just like football, so we should dress like we were going to an old-time ball game.”

“They were wrong,” Ray said. He nodded toward Zelk, whose fluffy fur rustled in the breeze. “Imagine how you would feel if they wore something that looks like human hide.”

The GSN people traded looks, then started peeling off their coats. “I hope it doesn’t get cold like they said it does,” Jones said. “What should we do with them?”

“Leave them in the shuttle,” Ray said. He felt relieved that the network people hadn’t argued. “And don’t worry about it getting cold. The weather’s balmy this time of year. Come on, I’ll introduce you to Dean Zelk.”

Ray led them down to Zelk, who stood transfixed next to Elizabeth. “They were victims of a nasty joke,” Ray told the dean. “Somebody told them that the coats would look fashionable, and they trusted the clown.”

“Oh, I scent,” Zelk said. Her muzzle wriggled as she sniffed the air. “But that rotting stink—ugh!”

“Those coats looked like synthetic fur to me,” Ray said, deftly dodging the truth. “Being made out of strong chemicals, I guess some synthetics could have a horrible smell to you. Uh, did the scent cling to them?”

“Yes... but if it’s not real, I can take it.” Even so her respiration sounded strained as Ray introduced the newcomers. It was as though Zelk was trying to breathe without inhaling as the people from GSN gave their names and job titles.

Elizabeth noticed that as well. “They’re having a barbecue at our dorm,” she told Jones. “If we hurry, we can get there before it’s over. You’ll probably appreciate the change from shipboard food.”

Everyone agreed that that was a fine idea. Zelk offered to find transportation for them, and hurried off to the airport terminal. “Good thinking,” Ray said quietly to Elizabeth. “Think we can arrange for them to spend the night at the dorm?”

“I hope so,” she said. She wrinkled her nose, and Ray guessed that she was sharing his thoughts. Taking them to the dorm before they encountered other kya would give them a chance to wash off the scent of dead fur—and to learn a few things about kya attitudes and behavior.

A small bus appeared, without Zelk, and parked by the ramp. The driver got out, sniffed the air, and took Ray aside. “Talking with the lady, she told me you had a problem,” she said. “Smelling this, I guess spaceship air must be really bad?”

“You could say that,” Ray said, grateful for the Dean’s little white lie. “When I go back to Earth, I’m walking.”

The driver snuffled appreciatively at the joke. She reentered her bus and opened all the windows while the humans climbed aboard. Their roboticized luggage and equipment followed them and took up positions under the seats, and the driver took off for Vrekle University.

Zelk had clearly given the driver instructions to avoid going through the densely populated areas between the airport and the campus, which Ray saw would lessen the chance of any kya catching a whiff of the crew’s unpleasant reek. The driver bore the foul odor with silent fortitude, and when she finally pulled up to the human dorm on the Vrekle campus Ray gave her a large tip. “I appreciate that,” she said as the last of her passengers disembarked. She took a light sniff, and her muzzle wrinkled in distaste. “I could swear it’s getting worse.”

“I think you’re right,” Ray said. He could smell the barbecue smoke, and while that was a welcome odor, he thought he detected a second, unpleasant aroma beneath it.

Elizabeth had led the newcomers into the dorm. Now she hurried out to Ray as the bus drove off. “Trouble,” she said. “Everyone’s sick. It looks like food poisoning.”

“Everyone?” Ray followed Elizabeth into the dorm, where he found she had been absolutely correct. Most of the students had dragged themselves back to their rooms, but a couple of them were draped over the lobby’s couches. The place was a mess, Ray noted almost absently; plates of half-eaten food, dirty cups and condiments were scattered everywhere—and the air stank with several odors he declined to identify. The network people looked thoroughly bewildered, a feeling Ray shared. “What should we do?” he asked.

“Call the embassy and get their medical people down here,” Elizabeth said.

Ray found the phone and called Nyquist. Whatever his feelings about Ray, he responded at once with a promise of help. Ray hung up and went to the patio, where two of the students were lying on lounge chairs. One of them was Grace, the economist. Ray helped her walk up to her room. “Bad,” she muttered as they staggered upstairs. “Never thrown up so much in my life.”

“Help will be here soon,” Ray said, crossing his fingers. He looked up as Elizabeth came out of a room. “How is it?”

“Bad,” she said, as Grace lurched into her room. “Toshio’s gone into shock. I’ve got him wrapped up in an electric blanket. Nick’s shaking so much I’m scared he’ll have convulsions. The others aren’t hit as hard, but they’re getting dehydrated and they can’t keep anything down. They must have eaten some kya food, somehow.”

“Damn,” Ray muttered.

“There’s more,” Elizabeth said. “Faber’s missing.”

“Damn,” Ray repeated. He could imagine Faber wandering off somewhere, then collapsing. “We can’t go off looking for him,” he decided. “We have to stay here.”

“We can’t just forget about him, either.”

“I know.” Ray tried to think. “Call Zelk. Have her call out Faber’s teammates. They know what he smells like, and they’ll have an easier time finding him than we would.”

“Good idea. They can track him down like bloodhounds.” She went inside to call Zelk.

The medical team arrived a half hour later, followed by Zelk and another kya. Ray stayed outside to speak with the kya while Elizabeth took the doctor and his assistant into the dorm. “Is anyone looking for Faber yet?” Ray asked.

“Coach Znayu and the team are on his trail,” Zelk’s companion said.

Zelk sniffed in agreement. “Bennett, this is my husband, Hraj,” she said. “Being with the police, I should say Leading Investigator Hraj. Hearing about this problem, and connecting it with other things, Hraj was a bit suspicious.”

“More than a bit,” Hraj said. “Talking with my sweeter scent, she told me a few things that smell peculiar. Let’s try to sniff out some clues.”

Ray followed Hraj around, and found that he had spoken literally. He sniffed the plates and cups scattered around the lobby and patio, ignoring the unpleasant odors with the hardened sensibilities of a professional. After finding something odd in the French fries, Hraj went into the kitchen and inspected several containers of food. “These have both been contaminated with knotvine extract,” Hraj said at last, pointing to a bottle of catsup and a plastic jug of vegetable oil.

“ ‘Knotvine extract,’ ” Ray said. “A few weeks ago Faber ate some by mistake, while the bagdrag team was on a training run.”

“Ah,” Hraj said. “That could narrow our lists of suspects. Someone at the run may have mentioned it to a friend who wanted to incapacitate your people.”

Zelk sniffed at the containers. “I only smell human scents on these bottles.”

“Having double-checked them, I agree,” her husband said. “Whoever poisoned them must have had enough sense to wear scent-proof gloves. And similar shoes; I don’t smell anything but human footprints in here.”

“Being so, that suggests someone with the intelligence of a college student,” Zelk told Ray. “Assuming that, we’ll have a smaller list of suspects.”

“I understand,” Ray said with a sigh. “I hope this won’t cause any trouble for the university.”

“Not as much trouble as I’ll make for whoever did this.” Her eyes narrowed to vindictive slits. “I think I can promise our network friends at least one genuine fur coat...”

Hraj began to question Zelk about possible troublemakers among the student body. Ray went into the lobby, where he helped Jones and her team move into some of the dorm’s unoccupied rooms. With that done, Ray returned to the lobby just in time to see Faber enter with one of his teammates. “Hey, Bennett,” Faber said, while the kya player suddenly retreated from the dorm’s stench. “Tsui tells me the whole team is out looking for me. What’s up?”

“Everyone who was at the barbecue came down with food poisoning,” Ray said. He felt relieved. It suddenly occurred to him that if Faber had taken ill, he would have missed the Big Game. “We were afraid you might be out dying in the bushes.”

Faber looked blanker than usual. “ ‘Dying’? From a little knotvine?”

Ray felt uneasy. “How do you know what they had?”

“Uh, just a guess. I mean, that’s what nailed me, right?”

Before Ray could answer, Hraj and Zelk stepped into the lobby. Their muzzles twitched as they caught Faber’s scent. “Your scent is strong and fresh on the poisoned container,” Hraj said. “Being so, can you explain why you handled it?”

“Better yet,” Ray said, “Can you explain why you missed the barbecue?”

“I cut out because those poindexters don’t like me,” Faber said. “I didn’t put nothing in any bottles.”

Hraj’s nostrils flared. “I said ‘container,’ singular. How did you know the poison was in more than one bottle?”

“Hey, it was just a gag!” Faber protested. “I was just blowing off some steam, they’ve had me working too hard, and anyway a few days of the trots will serve them right.”

Ray started to say something cutting, then decided Faber wasn’t worth it. Hraj spoke for him. “You’re under arrest. Come along.” Faber started to protest, a move which ended when Hraj put a hand on the pistol half-embedded in his waist fur. The investigator left with his prisoner.

Ray stepped outside the door, where Zelk had gone to escape the heavy odors. “Faber did it,” Ray said. “It was his idea of a joke.”

“Ideas aren’t his strong point.” She exhaled in disgust. “Doing that, I’ll have to expel him. And there goes the contract, and the university’s finances.”

“Maybe I can still work something out,” Ray said. “Can you tell me what a Kya court will do to Faber? Do the victims have a say in prosecuting him?”

“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

“I think I can use that to salvage the contract,” Ray said. “Mcllvaine will cut a deal to help his nephew. I won’t commit us to anything, other than a promise to try to help get Faber out of jail and off Kya—if he lets you keep the advance payment.”

Zelk agreed to that, said good night and left. Ray went into the lobby, where the GSN team had left its equipment. He had a hunch that they had brought along their own tachyon transmitter, to broadcast the game to Earth. His hunch proved correct, and within a few minutes he had unpacked the communications system and signaled Mcllvaine’s office. When the executive came on the screen he was sitting in an office, eating a sandwich. “Bad news, huh?” Mcllvaine said, looking at Ray.

“Faber’s in jail,” Ray said. “He won’t be able to play—”

“He what?” McIlvaine snapped. He slammed his sandwich down on his desk. “Bennett, what idiot busted him?”

“Faber poisoned almost everyone in the dorm,” Ray said. “It was his idea of a joke, and—”

“I don’t care what happened.”

“He’s been expelled, too,” Ray said.

“What?” Mcllvaine leaned over his desk and glared into the pick-up. “Bennett, I’ve got a fortune invested in covering these games. If we have to dump our coverage, I’ll take it out of your hide!”

“You’d better listen to me,” Ray said, “if you want to keep your nephew out of jail.”

“Let him go,” Mcllvaine said. “A little hard time might make a man out of him.”

“He’s your relative,” Ray said in surprise.

Mcllvaine made a disparaging gesture. “I don’t need him if he can’t play. And as for you, Bennett, you’re screwed. You were supposed to keep the punk in line.”

Ray watched his plans sink. Then, like a shipwreck survivor, he clutched at the first idea that floated within reach. “Your basic idea was to catch an audience’s interest by putting a human player on a bagdrag team,” he heard himself say. “Suppose I can get another human player. Will that work? It’s better than nothing.”

“Not by much,” Mcllvaine growled. His face contorted as though he was grappling with a massive philosophical problem. “OK, it’s better than letting this whole set-up go down the crapper. Get somebody. Anybody. Just make sure it’s a great human player.” He broke the connection.

Elizabeth came down the stairs then and sat down next to him. “Trouble?”

“No more than usual.” Ray rubbed his temples. “Faber’s the jackass who poisoned everyone. He thought it was great joke. Now he’s in jail and out of Vrekle.”

“Damn.” She started massaging his shoulders. “If he had half the brains God gave any self-respecting skunk, he’d be twice as smart as he is. What will you do now?”

“I just told McIlvaine that I’d try to get another human student to take Faber’s place. He agreed to try that, so the contract lives. The question is, can we put one of the other students on the team? Will any of them recover in time?”

“No,” Elizabeth said. “The doctor says they’re all going to be bedridden for several days, and shaky for another week.”

“Damn.” Ray saw the obvious solution to his problem. “How about you?”

“Huh?”

“You’re a student in good academic standing. That’s supposed to be the only qualification for joining the team.”

“You’re crazy,” Elizabeth said. “I’ve never played bagdrag in my life. Plus, I have about as much coordination as a Democratic presidential campaign, and if I gain ten more pounds, I’ll qualify as a ninety-seven pound weakling.”

“You don’t need muscle to play an outrunner position,” Ray said. “They don’t do anything more than run around. If—”

“Not now,” she said.

“All right.” Ray’s stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten lately. “Have the kya invented takeout yet, or are we going to have to cook our own dinner?”

Ray woke up on the couch, alone. Elizabeth had gone to her room alone late last night, and Ray hadn’t wanted to push his luck. He hoped that suggesting that she play bagdrag hadn’t done something fatal to his long-range plans with her.

A rasping noise reminded him he wasn’t alone after all; the embassy’s doctor had flaked out on another couch, and was still sound asleep after last night’s work. The dorm was still a mess from the disrupted barbecue. Ray spent some time cleaning the lobby, and he had it in fairly decent shape when Jones came downstairs. “Where’s breakfast?” she asked Ray.

“There’s food in the kitchen pantry,” Ray said. “Stick with the imports, unless you’ve got some enzyme pills.”

“Uh-huh. Where’s the bagdrag field? We have to get out there and set up our gear for some test shots. That, and get some shots of Faber in practice.”

“Faber’s been expelled,” Ray said. He held up a hand before she could react to the good news. “I’m going to see if I can get another human to sub for him. Mcllvaine agreed to that, so get set up in case things work out.”

“Things had better work out,” Jones said. “Covering this game is my chance to hire on with a real network, instead of Mcllvaine’s two-bit carnival. I don’t want anyone to blow it for me—and waste the trip to this miserable dirtball to boot.”

“Things will work out,” Ray promised. All he had to do was find a substitute for Faber. He toyed with the idea of enrolling in Vrekle, then realized it wouldn’t work; Zelk couldn’t stretch the rules far enough to pretend that he had suddenly become a student in good standing, much less an athlete. Jones shook her head as though somehow agreeing with his thoughts, and headed into the kitchen.

Elizabeth came down a moment later, looking tired and harried after last night. “Have you had breakfast yet?” she asked.

“No, I thought I’d wait until you were up. I hate eating alone.”

“Same here. I’ll get us something.”

That seemed like an improvement over last night, and Ray was mulling it over when a kya came into the lobby. His muzzle wrinkled as the air hit him in the face, but he kept his reaction under control. “Dean Zelk wants to talk with you,” he told Ray. “Nyquist being in her office, she says it’s urgent.”

Elizabeth popped out of the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure,” the kya admitted. “The ambassador being upset, I think he wants all humans off the campus.”

“He can’t do that,” Elizabeth said. She left the dorm with Ray and the kya, who led them across the campus to the administration building. The kya ushered the humans into the dean’s office, where Nyquist sat on one end of the stools Zelk kept for her guests. Ray thought the man looked pleased with himself.

Nyquist ignored Ray. “Ms. Sheffield,” he said to Elizabeth. “In light of recent events, I think it would be better if the human contingent withdrew from this university.”

“Why should we leave?” Elizabeth asked. “We like it here.”

“You had an incident of mass poisoning last night,” Nyquist said. “Luckily nobody died or suffered permanent injury, but we can’t count on that luck the next time this happens.”

“Vapor did it,” Zelk said. “Having expelled the stinker, I can assure you there will be no repetition.”

“I’m still concerned with the likelihood of trouble on this campus,” Nyquist said. “You’ve already had protests from other students over the human presence, and this poisoning has sparked more complaints, hasn’t it?”

“How would you know?” Ray asked.

Nyquist smiled smugly. “I understand the kya. From their point of view, one member of the human herd has insanely attacked the rest of his group. Isn’t that so, Dean Zelk?”

“Yes,” Zelk admitted. “Having received some complaints this morning—well, we can ignore them.”

“Can we?” Nyquist asked. “I wish I could share your confidence, but I can’t. I’m going to ask the UN to order the human students evacuated until it’s safe for them to return—whenever that may be. They’ll be out of here within the week, along with that network crew.”

“What about our contract with GSN?” Zelk demanded. “We can’t afford to have it revoked. The return of the advance money will bankrupt the university.”

“That can’t be helped.” Nyquist stood up. “It’s unfortunate that Bennett foisted such bad terms on you. Perhaps the next time you want to do business with Earth, you’ll realize that you’re better off working through the UN.”

Zelk looked at him and exhaled loudly, a symbolic clearing of his scent from his nostrils. “She’s right,” Ray said. “Mr. Ambassador, you’re the salt of the earth—and we all know what salt does to the earth.”

Nyquist glowered at Ray. “And we know what people like you can do to Kya,” he said. “You’re a carpetbagger, an exploiter. The UN is trying to arrange an equitable, orderly transfer of technologic and scientific knowledge to Kya, something that won’t reduce their society to chaos.”

“Something that’s controlled by the UN,” Elizabeth said. “Something that lets you decide who gets to do business with the kya. You’re giving yourself a lot of power, aren’t you?”

“We are the experts in dealing with non-humans,” Nyquist said. “And I suppose I should thank you people. The mess you’ve made will give the UN the leverage to pass legislation that lets us control all business conducted between Earth and Kya. We’ll put a stop to fast-buck artists like Bennett.”

“While you decide what we can and can’t have,” Zelk said. Her floppy ears swiveled back in obvious anger. “Being the wisest creatures in existence, you naturally know more about what’s good for us than we do.”

“No, but we have a certain amount of experience,” Nyquist said, ignoring her sarcasm. “You should try to benefit from it. Good day.”

Elizabeth watched him go, then turned to Zelk. “Is it too late for me to join the bagdrag team?” she asked.

Zelk let out a puzzled gronk. “Why do you ask?”

“Ray suggested I play in the game,” she said. “If the team can field a human player, that may save the contract—and if you’re going to do anything to stop Nyquist, you’ll have to start with that. So is it too late for me to get on the team?”

“Never having had a situation like this before, I can’t say.” Zelk took a long, thoughtful sniff. “The only requirement for joining the team being good grades, you are qualified, so you can play.”

“She’s also a teacher,” Ray said.

“The rules say nothing about that,” Zelk said. “Calling Coach Znayu, I’ll tell him to schedule extra practice sessions for today and tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll get over to the field now,” Elizabeth said.

Ray left with her. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m sorry I sprang that on you so suddenly last night.”

“It’s OK,” she said. “But my playing in one game won’t help much, not if Nyquist is going to run everyone out of town.”

“At least he won’t be able to bankrupt me,” Ray said. “Or Vrekle. But he still wins in the end, damn it.”

“Maybe not,” Elizabeth suggested. “He’s too clever for his own good; maybe he’ll outfox himself. Just remember, it ain’t over until the skinny lady sings.”

They went to the locker room, where Coach Znayu was talking to his assistants. “I know, I know,” he gronked to them. “It smells like the dean’s been sniffing her own breath, but she’s the boss. Get the team together and we’ll do what we can.” He turned to the two humans and sniffed happily. “Congratulations, Shevield! Having spoken with the dean, I scent you’re running with our herd. Let’s get you into a uniform.”

They went to a storage room, where Znayu dug into a heap of uniforms. “This is about the smallest we have,” he said, handing it to Elizabeth. “We’ll lace on some extra pads, so you’ll have more protection.” He peered at her as though looking for any sign of muscle. “The question is, can you handle your part of the bag?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Sure, no problem.”

Ray realized what was being said. “You want to put her on the bag?” he asked in dismay. “Can’t you put her in a safer position, like outrunner?”

The coach let out a snort of amusement. “Her? Are you kidding? It takes a year to train a good outrunner. The inner bag-carrier spots are the easiest positions to learn and play—just hold on and follow the leader.”

“Until the other teams break the defensive line.” Ray felt faint. “She’ll get squished.”

Elizabeth looked annoyed. “I love your optimism.”

“I’m not kidding,” he said. “Maybe you’d better back out.”

“And let Vrekle down?” She shook her head. “Besides, I can’t go back to Earth, unless I want to be sick all the damned time. I’d rather go down fighting.”

“I see.” With her allergies to Terran foods, she was better off on Kya. It was one more reason to defeat Nyquist, Ray thought. “You’re sure you can handle the bag position?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Elizabeth said. “Worry about Nyquist. Have you got any ideas on handling him?”

“Just one,” Ray said.

“Well, let’s hear it.”

“I want to ask if you have any ideas.”

Ray was still looking for ideas that evening when he took her back to the dorm. He realized that he was the only healthy human being on the campus. The students were still sick from last night’s dinner, and Elizabeth was worn out from long hours of bagdrag practice. He nearly had to carry her into her room.

“I’ll be OK tomorrow,” she said. She lay face-down on the bed while Ray massaged her shoulders with liniment. “The bag positions aren’t too bad. I’ve got seven other kya helping with the weight. All I have to do is carry twenty pounds of sand and keep up with them.”

“And keep from getting turned into jelly when the opposing teams charge the bag,” Ray said. When one team had sole possession of the bag, the other two teams would gang together to take it away from them. The play looked like a furry tidal wave.

“That’s why the uniforms have a lot of padding,” she said. “Besides, Vrekle has the best defensive line in the league, so I’ll be safe. ‘Stick together and you can block anything,’ that’s what Coach Znayu says.”

“That’s the UN’s motto, too,” Ray said. He thought for a moment as he worked liniment into her sides. Stick together. What if the UN didn’t stick together? And—what was that smug comment Nyquist had made? Something about trying to benefit from the UN’s advice. Yes. Things clicked. “I’ve got an idea.”

She sighed happily. “I’m half-naked and you’ve got your hands all over me. Of course you’ve got an idea.”

“OK, so I’ve got two ideas,” Ray said, feeling encouraged by her words. “That economist, what’s-her-name—”

“Grace Carver.”

“—do you think she’d mind working as a part-time consultant for a kya firm?”

“When she’s feeling better.” Elizabeth turned over and looked at him. “Why? What have you got in mind?”

“A way to hoist Nyquist on his own petard. And make a profit. That’s three ideas.”

“One idea at a time,” she said. “What are you going to do to Nyquist?”

“Blackmail him,” Ray said. “Would you say Nyquist has good intentions?”

“Well—yes.”

“Of course. So does the UN. He’s the worst kind of do-gooder—the sort who thinks his intentions are all that matters. But if we can threaten to make him look bad at the UN, we can stop him cold. And I know just how to do it. I’ll just need the cooperation of Jones and a few kya.”

“Good.” She turned over, reached up and started unbuttoning his shirt. “Now let’s hear about your first idea.”

Ray visited Ghorf’s office the next morning, and spoke to one of the people in his office. “Having just left to, er, inspect one of our farms, Ghorf isn’t here,” the kya said. “Being Zhlah, his secretary, I’m authorized to discuss business with you.”

“ ‘His secretary’?” Ray repeated. It worried him that Ghorf wouldn’t see him. No doubt about it, the executive was avoiding him. “Well, let’s talk. Applying Earth technology to your farms, I wanted to talk about a problem this may create.”

Zhlah sniffed in puzzlement. “Being a good thing, how can increased productivity be a problem?”

“Easy,” Ray said. “Suppose you suddenly have twice as many crops to sell. What happens to prices and profits?”

Zhlah sniffed again, this time thoughtfully. “I catch the scent. There’s a glut and the market stampedes over the nearest cliff. Saying this, do you think we should break the contract with Moskva Mnogo-whatever?”

“No,” Ray said. “We humans have had similar problems. Having an expert on economics working at Vrekle, you might want to consult with her on possible courses of action. She may see a way for you to increase production and profits without importing some expensive technology.”

Zhlah’s ears pricked up at that. “Hearing that, I’d like to discuss things with her. I must say, it’s good of you to think so much of our needs.”

“Well, it isn’t all my idea,” Ray said. “A lot of the credit has to go to Ambassador Nyquist.”

“The Ambassador?” Zhlah exhaled rudely. “He’s been nothing but trouble.”

“It only seems that way, Zhlah.” Ray smiled as he prepared the ambassador for a fall. “I’d say he’s really interested in helping Kya, despite his orders from the UN. To be honest, he was the one who warned me to look into the consequences of our business arrangements, and to pay attention to our planet’s experience in such matters.”

“Indeed?”

“Indeed,” Ray agreed. “If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t be talking right now. He may have turned a potentially disastrous situation into one that will profit all of us.” Ray smiled at his own careful misstatements of the truth.

“Hearing this, I’d say we were wrong about the fellow,” Zhlah said. “Hearing that, Ghorf will be happy.”

“I’m sure,” Ray said. “Would Ghorf mind saying that to a reporter? You see—er, you scent, the ambassador is in a bit of trouble back home, and it would help all of us if the folks on Earth knew what a help he’s been.”

“A human reporter?” Zhlah sniffed uncomfortably. “Well—Ghorf being busy, it isn’t convenient. Being his closest-following assistant, would I do?”

Ray smiled again. “Yes, you’ll do nicely.”

“You’re cutting this close,” Jones said. She checked her watch as Ray led her and her cameraman to the UN embassy’s front entrance. “The game starts in three hours. That barely gives us enough time to get back to Vrekle.”

“I know,” Ray said. He clutched his notepad in much the same way that an ancient tribesman might hold a magic talisman. “But we can’t leave Nyquist any time to react.”

They entered the lobby, where Delores sat working behind her desk. “Go away,” she said without looking up.

“We can’t do that,” Jones said. “I’m here to interview the ambassador. I’ve already had several kya testify about his activities, and I thought I’d give him a chance to comment.”

Delores glowered at Ray. “You’re behind this, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Why don’t you let the ambassador know we’re here?”

Delores thought for a second, then flicked her thumb at a door. “You can wait for Mr. Nyquist in his office. Alone.”

Ray glanced at Jones and the cameraman, then gave in. He entered the office, took one of the ornate seats in front of the expansive oak desk, and waited.

Nyquist steamed into his office a half-hour later. “This had better be good, Bennett,” he said. “What have you got? Some kya complaining about UN policies?”

“Let me show you,” Ray said. He set his notepad on the desk and pushed the display tab. A holographic image appeared above the desk: Jones and Zhlah. “I’m surprised to hear you praise the ambassador,” Jones’s simulacrum said. “I’d understood he opposed giving Kya any help.”

“That being your UN’s policy, he has often seemed unreasonable,” Zhlah said. “But despite this he has given the Easthills Combine some advice which will not only make it easier for us to hire human scientists, but also to employ your agricultural techniques with a minimum of trouble. Knowing this, we feel most grateful to him. Thanks to Ambass—”

Nyquist reached out and stopped the playback. “What’s your game, Bennett?”

“You should listen to the entire interview,” Ray said. “Zhlah praises you to the skies. We’ve got a similar interview with Dean Zelk, too. You see, they know you’ve been secretly working against the UN’s interests, dropping veiled hints as to how they can get around UN restrictions—”

“That’s a lie!”

“Is it?” Ray asked. “They believe it. So does Jones. She’s worked up a full report, and she’s already submitted it to Earth—and because you won’t let her transmit the game, GSN has a lot of dead air to fill. You see the problem? Once the UN hears you’ve double-crossed them, you’ll be out of here faster than a cat at a dog show. I don’t want that any more than you do.”

Nyquist boggled. “You what?”

“I won’t deny that I used to think you were lower than a snake’s navel,” Ray said. “But when I realized how you’d been carefully slipping me advice on how to beat the restrictions, I saw I was wrong. And, let’s face it, you haven’t actually done anything to interfere with my business—just a lot of razzle-dazzle that makes you look like a UN flunky.”

“You’re blackmailing me,” Nyquist growled.

“Huh?” Ray did his best to look innocently puzzled. “No, sir, I’m protecting our interests. We both want to help the kya. But if you don’t reverse that UN decision and let Jones do her broadcast, they’ll air those interviews and—”

“I’ll call headquarters and explain that those interviews are false,” Nyquist said.

“Good idea,” Ray said. “But will you be able to convince them? We both know how the UN works. There’s bound to be some jackal who’d love to knife you in the back. Even a false report like this could give your enemies a chance to—”

“I get the point.” Nyquist ground his teeth, then banged his fist down on the desk’s intercom panel. “Delores. Tell that GSN woman she can do her show.” He punched the panel again as Ray turned off his notepad. “Get out of here, you reptant blackmailer!”

Ray smiled and took his notepad. “Keep up the good act, Mr. Ambassador.”

“It’s the biggest crowd we’ve ever had,” Zelk told Ray as the game began. Cheerleaders on the sidelines were throwing team-scented powders into the air while various clusters of kya rooted for their team. Out on the field, Elizabeth and seven kya were dragging a dingy, grass-stained bag toward a goal line, while a remote camera coasted above them. “Having almost twice as many spectators as usual, I’m overwhelmed.”

“Not all of them seem happy,” Ray said, spotting one group of kya. They carried large, papier-mache bones and mimed gnawing them. Ray didn’t need to be an anthropologist to understand what they thought of the human presence.

“Oh, belch,” Zelk said in annoyance. “Now everyone’s going to know there’s a split in the student body over human students.”

And the dean was concerned with appearances, Ray thought. “Get some students together,” he suggested, “and have them pass the word that what they’re really doing is taunting the other teams—threatening to eat them alive with a human player.”

“That’s the most disgusting thing I ever heard,” Zelk said.

Ray smiled. “No, it’s the most disgusting thing you ever heard the protesters say.”

Zelk’s muzzle wrinkled in appreciation. “Phrasing it like that, it could make them smell foolish. Taunting the other teams being rude, the sort of thing that can disrupt their playing, they’ll never live it down—and it will make them smell loyal to Vrekle, too, in a demented way. If you’ll excuse me?”

Ray smiled as she went away. Taking care of the protesters hadn’t been on the schedule, but it made a nice bonus to the day. Of course, the main event was yet to come—unless Nyquist had decided to tough it out.

After one of the breaks in the game Ray went to the open-air broadcast booth, where Jones and a retired bagdrag player were giving a commentary to the Earthside audience. “It’s the end of the fourth fifth,” Jones was saying, “With the score tied at six, six, and six, with one stench—foul, that is, against Flerk Polytechnic.”

“Dad’s ride,” the player said in his version of English, “end it leafs Vrekle plus Bnurx in a god position three drat the hag across their mutual coal line and scare two pints. Weal come left bat rafter a weird from your sponsor.”

One of the technicians made a chopping gesture. Jones took off her headset and gestured for Ray to come closer. “Not a bad game,” she said. “Lots of action, no long time-outs between plays, and with all that padding on her your girlfriend is a lot more photogenic than I expected.”

“Do you think it’s worth covering the rest of the season?” Ray asked.

“Big Mac will think so, if these ratings hold.” She nodded at the computer terminal on her table. “The autorating system says our viewership has been going up throughout the game. Staying here might not be such a bad idea,” she mused.

“I thought you wanted to get off this ‘dirtball’?”

Jones shrugged. “If I can go home with higher ratings, I’ll wait. Besides, that redhead at the embassy is OK, once you get to know her.”

“You mean Delores?” It surprised Ray that anyone could like her. On the other hand, he mused, maybe Jones could drive a wedge between Nyquist and his henchwoman. The day was looking better and better.

“Delores, right,” Jones said. “We’re having dinner tonight, unless Nyquist pulls something rotten. You heard from him yet?”

“No.”

“I’m worried,” she said. “He doesn’t seem like the sort of man who submits to blackmail. What’s he got up his sleeve?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ray said. “I’ll handle him.”

Jones looked dubious, but the cameraman flashed her a thumb’s-up before she could comment. “And we’re back at you, live from Kya,” she said, putting her headset back on.

Out on the field, the three teams had resumed their positions around the bag. Vrekle and one of the other teams had combined forces, and their line swept away the third team’s players as their carriers dragged the bag over a goal line. It all looked like a mountain on the move, but that sight was nowhere near as imposing as the spectacle of Nyquist, forcing his way through the throngs of kya spectators toward Ray. “Well, Bennett,” he said cheerily as they came face to face, “Sorry I had to miss the start of the game, but I had to do a little housekeeping.”

“ ‘Housekeeping’?” Ray repeated.

“I had to clean your clock.” Nyquist smiled nastily. “I found out that Jones never sent a taped interview to Earth, and GSN doesn’t report on anything but sports. You bamboozled me into letting you broadcast this game, but I guarantee it’s the last trick you’ll pull. You’re being deported. You’ll leave on the next ship.”

“Don’t say good-bye just yet,” Ray said. “You’ll be coming with me. Watch.” Ray drew his notepad from his pocket and played back a recording. A simulacrum of Nyquist’s office appeared. “This had better be good, Bennett,” Nyquist’s image said as he entered his office. “What have you got? Some kya complaining about UN policies?”

“Let me show you,” Ray’s image said. The Ray-image produced a notepad and placed it on the ghostly desk.

Standing on the grass before Nyquist, Ray smiled as he turned off the notepad. “I painted over its record light before I came to your office, so you couldn’t know I was taping our meeting. There you are, submitting to blackmail, to protect yourself. What do you think will happen if the UN sees that?”

After a chilly moment Nyquist returned Ray’s smile. “I’ll lose my job. You’ll go to jail for blackmail. It might be worth it, Bennett.”

“I wouldn’t go to jail unless I returned to Earth,” Ray said. “So I’ll stay here. After all, my work is here, and my fiancée likes it here.”

“ ‘Fiancée’?”

Ray gestured toward the field, where Elizabeth was trading sides on the bag with another player. “I’ve had a lot of good ideas lately,” he said. “Now, I doubt you want to lose your job, so why don’t you just back off?”

“And let you ruin this world?”

“How do you ruin a world?” Ray asked him. “I’ve figured out something, Mr. Ambassador. Things change.”

“Is that supposed to be brilliant?”

“Understanding it is,” Ray said. He gestured at the field. “Thousands of years ago, that was how they fought over food. Now it’s just a game, because they developed agriculture and don’t have to fight over food any more. Or should they have preserved their culture and stayed in little nomadic herds that fought over scraps of food? That’s as unrealistic as saying Neolithic humans should have stayed in the caves.”

“You really don’t care how much harm you do here, do you?” Nyquist asked in disgust. “You’re just rationalizing everything.”

“I’m trying not to,” Ray said. “I’m only saying that change is part of everyone’s culture, and so is learning how to deal with change. I’m saying—”

Nyquist spoke an undiplomatic word. “You’ll get away with it this time,” he said, “but next time, I’ll nail your hide to the wall.” He turned and started to stomp away, then looked over his shoulder, determined to have the last word. “And you’ll still destroy their world.” He vanished into the crowd of kya.

No, I won’t, Ray thought. There was a secret to surviving the hazards that change brought on. Elizabeth had survived her allergies by coming to Kya. Zelk had learned to bend the rules when Faber brought on his crises. Ray had managed to hold things together despite the curves that Mcllvaine and Nyquist had thrown him. The secret of surviving in an unpredictable universe was to keep your wits about you. Simple, he thought, but Faber and Nyquist hadn’t managed it.

The crowd cheered a play on the field. Returning his attention to the game, Ray saw that Vrekle now had sole possession of the bag. Over the crowd’s rumbling gronks he heard Jones shouting out the score—eight, eight and six, with Vrekle tied with Bnurx and in a position to score the winning point, what a game, you poor geeks oughta be here—while on the field, the opposing two teams lined up to take the bag away from Vrekle.

Ray could barely watch as Elizabeth and seven teammates pounded toward their home goal. The opposing teams charged them en masse, a stampede which he thought would have sent John Wayne running home to his mommy. Vrekle’s defensive line went down under the onslaught, and the offense swept over the bag.

Ray looked for Elizabeth while the referees charged into the confused, milling players. He expected to see her removed from the field on a pizza platter, but when a knot of players moved out of the way he saw her still clutching the bag with one hand, while she waved her other fist in the air. The crowd went wild, and over the din Ray heard Jones shout something about Vrekle retaining the bag. Apparently, Ray thought, a team kept possession if even one player kept a grip on the bag—and Vrekle was now within yards of its own goal line.

What came next baffled Ray. The outrunners scurried around the field, and in a moment Vrekle had given up sole possession of the bag. “What’s going on?” Ray asked the nearest kya.

“We’re sharing the bag with Flerk!” she said in excitement. “What a play, what a play!”

“I don’t get it,” Ray said.

Ray didn’t get a response, as the play began and the crowd went wild. Out on the field the offensive and defensive lines collided, and the bag carriers plowed through the chaos to plunge across the goal line Vrekle shared with Flerk. Time ran out then, and the crowd surged onto the grassy field to celebrate the end of the game. Jones shouted out the score—ten, eight and eight—while her co-anchor, overcome with excitement, gronked incoherently in his own language. As Ray forced his way through the mob toward Vrekle’s bench area, he wondered if Vrekle had won. None of the fans had the dejected air of losers he would have seen on Earth.

Whatever had happened, the Vrekle players were ecstatic as Ray caught up with them. “Are you all right?” he asked Elizabeth as he got hold of her.

“I’m fine,” she gasped. “I could— get to like—doing this.”

“How did you manage to hang onto the bag in that one play?” Ray asked.

She started to get her breath back. “I just grabbed my handle like it was Nyquist’s throat,” she said. “After that, it’s like explaining how a Republican can get elected President. It defies all logic, even when you see it happen.” One of the Vrekle players had overheard their talk. “Bouncing into me, I absorbed most of her momentum,” he explained. “Good playing, Shev-ield, and it let our outrunners negotiate a classic play, just classic!”

“Way out in front!” another player chimed in. “Being so, let’s just hear anyone dare to sneeze out another complaint about human students at good old Vrekle!”

Ray steered her toward the broadcast booth. “Did we win?” he asked her.

“We did,” Elizabeth said. “Even better, we won right. We and Bnurx had eight points. Flerk had six. By sharing the bag with Flerk, we scored two points and so did they. That means they came out of the game tied for second place with Bnurx, instead of ending up in third place. Their pride isn’t hurt, and we look more sporting.”

“So everyone wins.” It was, Ray noted, a typical kya attitude toward competition. “But you were in a spot to score an easy point on your own goal, instead of making that long run down the field. What if it hadn’t worked?”

“Then we’d have tied for first with Bnurx, which means Flerk would still have come in second and everyone goes home happy. Speaking of going home, what about Nyquist?”

“I handled him the way you would have, by the throat,” Ray said. “We can stay. Now come on, Jones will want to interview you.”

They were pressing their way through the crowd when Ghorf came up to them. “Rabinet!” he called, and gave a friendly bow that was marred by some jostling. “Coming to see the game, I thought I should drop by for a few words.”

“I’m glad you did,” Ray said. He felt oddly apprehensive when he recalled how the executive had been avoiding him—and there was something unsettling about the way his muzzle twitched, as though he was reluctant to deliver bad news.

Ghorf’s words belied that impression, however. “I wanted to talk about the Moskva contract,” he said. “Consulting with Zhlah, she thinks that—that—ah—ah—”

Ghorf struggled to stifle a sneeze, lost the fight, and doubled over as he let loose an explosive string of sneezes. He gronked out a noise that might have been “Excuse me” as he staggered away, still sneezing.

“I’ll telephone you later,” Ray called after him, as he vanished into the crowd.

Elizabeth shook her head in sympathy. “Poor fellow... but now we know why he’s been avoiding you.”

Ray nodded. “At least I can still deal with his secretary face-to-face.” That would be out of the question for Ghorf, who, Ray now saw, was allergic to humans.

Illustrated by Kelly Freas