«Go ahead. Tell me I'm an idiot.»

«No need. Why should I gloat over one stupid mistake? I'd have had to make the trip anyway, sometime.»

Emil sighed. «I suppose that means you'll have to see Bellamy before we go back.»

«Finagle's sake, Emil! We're here, aren't we? Oh, one thing. Let's not tell Bellamy why we came. He might be offended.»

«And he might decide I'm a dolt. Correctly. Don't worry, I won't tell him.»

The «grass» covering the veldt turned out to be kneehigh ferns, dry and brittle enough to crackle under our socks. Dark blue-green near the tips of the plants gave way to lighter coloring on the stalks. Small wonder the herbivores had left a trail. Small wonder if we'd seen carnivores treading that easy path.

The goggled figure in front of the camp tent was cleaning a mercy rifle. By the time we were out of the car, he had closed it up and loaded it with inch-long slivers of anesthetic chemical. I'd seen such guns before. The slivers could be fired individually or in one-second bursts of twenty, and they dissolved instantly in anything that resembled blood. One type of sliver would usually fit all the lifeforms on a given world.

The man didn't bother to get up as we approached. Nor did he put down the gun. «Hi,» he said cheerfully. «What can I do for you?»

«We'd like —»

«Beowulf Shaeffer?»

«Yeah. Larch Bellamy?»

Now he got up. «Can't recognize anybody on this crazy world. Goggles covering half your face, everybody the same color — you have to go stark naked to be recognized, and then only the women know you. Whatinhell are you doing on Gummidgy, Bey?»

«I'll tell you later. Larch, this is Emil Home. Emil, meet Larchmont Bellamy.»

«Pleasure,» said Bellamy, grinning as if indeed it were. Then his grin tried to break into laughter, and he smothered it. «Let's go inside and swallow something wet.»

«What was funny?»

«Don't be offended, Mr. Home. You and Bey do make an odd pair. I was thinking that the two of you are like a medium-sized beach ball standing next to a baseball bat. How did you meet?»

«On the ship,» said Emil.

The camp tent had a collapsible revolving door to hold the pressure. Inside, the tent was almost luxurious, though it was all foldaway stuff. Chairs and sofas were soft, cushiony fabric surfaces, holding their shape through insulated static charges. Tables were memory plastic. Probably they compressed into small cubes for storage aboard ship. Light came from glow strips in the fabric of the pressurized tent. The bar was a floating portable. It came to meet us at the door, took our orders, and passed out drinks.

«All right,» Bellamy said, sprawling in an armchair. When he relaxed, he relaxed totally, like a cat. Or a tiger. «Bey, how did you come to Gummidgy? And where's Sharrol?»

«She can't travel in space.»

«Oh? I didn't know. That can happen to anyone.» But his eyes questioned.

«She wanted children. Did you know that? She's always wanted children.»

He took in my red eyes and white hair. «I … see. So you broke up.»

«For the time being.»

His eyes questioned.

That's not emphatic enough. There was something about Bellamy … He had a lean body and a lean face, with a straight, sharp-edged nose and prominent cheekbones, all setting off the dark eyes in their deep pits beneath black shaggy brows.

But there was more to it than eyes. You can't tell a man's age by looking at his photo, not if he takes boosterspice. But you can tell, to some extent, by watching him in motion. Older men know where they're going before they start to move. They don't dither, they don't waste energy, they don't trip over their feet, and they don't bump into things.

Bellamy was old. There was a power in him, and his eyes questioned.

I shrugged. «We used the best answer we had, Larch. He was a friend of ours, and his name was Carlos Wu. You've heard of him?»

«Mathematician, isn't he?»

«Yah. Also playwright and composer. The Fertility Board gave him an unlimited breeding license when he was eighteen.»

«That young?»

«He's a genius. As I say, he was a good friend of ours. Liked to talk about space; he had the flatland phobia, like Sharrol. Well, Sharrol and I made our decision, and then we went to him for help. He agreed.

«So Sharrol's married him on a two-year contract. In two years I'll go back and marry her, and we'll raise our fam-»

«I'll be damned.»

I'd been angry about it for too long, with nobody to be angry at. I flared up. «Well, what would you have done?»

«Found another woman. But I'm a dirty old man, and you're young and naive. Suppose Wu tried to keep her.»

«He won't. He's a friend; I told you. Besides, he's got more women than ten of him could handle with that license of his.»

«So you left.»

«I had to. I couldn't stand it.»

He was looking at me with something like awe. «I can't remember ever being in love that hard. Bey, you're overdue for a drunk, and you're surrounded by friends. Shall we switch to something stronger than beer?»

«It's a good offer, but no, thanks. I didn't mean to cry on your shoulder. I've had my drunk. A week on Wunderland, drinking Vurguuz.»

«Finagle's ears! Vurguuz?»

«I said to myself, Why mess around with half measures? said I. So —»

«What does it taste like?»

«Like a hand grenade with a minted sugar casing. Like you better have a chaser ready.»

Silence threatened to settle. No wonder, the way I'd killed the conversation by spilling my personal problems all over everything. I said, «So as long as I had to do some traveling, I thought I'd do some people some favors. That's why I'm here.»

«What kind of favors?»

«Well, a friend of mine happens to be an ET taxidermist. It's a complicated profession. I told him I'd get him some information on Gummidgy animals and Gummidgy biochemistry. Now that the planet's open to hunters, sooner or later people like you are going to be carting in perforated alien bodies.»

Bellamy frowned. «I wish I could help,» he said, «but I don't kill the animals I hunt. I just shoot them full of anesthetic so they'll hold still while I photo them. The same goes for the rest of us.»

«I see.»

«Otherwise I'd offer to take you along one day.»

«Yeah. I'll do my own research, then. Thanks for the thought.»

Then, being a good host, Bellamy proceeded to work Emil into the conversation. Emil was far from being the strong, silent type who smiles a lot; in fact, we were soon learning all about the latest advances in computer technology. But he kept his word and did not mention why we had come.

I was grateful.

The afternoon passed swiftly. Dinnertime arrived early. Most of the people on Gummidgy accommodate to the eighteen-hour day by having two meals: brunch and dinner. We accepted Bellamy's invitation.

With dinner arrived a dedicated hunter named Warren, who insisted on showing us photos of everything he'd caught since his arrival. That day he'd shot a graceful animal like a white greyhound, «but even faster,» he said; a monkey-like being with a cupped hand for throwing rocks; and a flower.

«A flower?»

«See those tooth marks on my boot? I had to shoot it to get it to let go. No real sport in it, but as long as I'd already shot the damn thing …»

His only resemblance to Bellamy was this: He carried the same indefinable air of age. Now I was sure it had nothing to do with appearance. Perhaps it was a matter of individuality. Bellamy and Warren were individuals. They didn't push it, they didn't have to demonstrate it, but neither were they following anybody's lead.

Warren left after dinner. Going to see how the others were doing, he said; they must be hot on the trail of something or they'd have been back to eat. Not wanting to wear out our welcome, we said our good-byes and left, too. It was near sunset when we emerged from the camp tent.