"Neither did I," she said slowly. "Something is rotten in the Matriarchy, and it isn't the customary scent of senile decay peculiar to dictatorships. The biology of the Martians demands a dictatorship, what with their weird reproductive methods. Unless there were a strong and centralized authority they'd slump back into barbarism after a few thousand years of unrestricted matings. Here's one dictator who's loved by the dictatees." She was silent a moment, then said: "To change the subject, I have the place and time for tomorrow's party. The lady is--I knew you couldn't tell one from another--director of a munitions and fabrication syndicate." "Thanks," he said vaguely, taking the memo. "That's the perfect spot of irony to top off the evening--in fact this whole damned mission that failed." * * * * * He went to the party with Dr. Carewe, both thoroughly wrapped up in fur and wool against the Martian ten-below temperature. And they carried thermos flasks full of hot coffee for an occasional warming nip in a dark corner. Anything but that would be unmannerly. His hostess presented Weems to her husband-brother-nephew, an example of the ungodly family relationships into which their anatomy naturally led. The creature was very much smaller than the female, and spoke only Martian, which the Earthman could not handle except sparingly. He got the idea that they were talking about auriferous sand, but how they got onto the subject he did not understand. He excused himself as quickly as he could and retreated for some of the steaming coffee. "Earthman, of course!" said a hearty voice. He turned to see a curious, stubby person, quite human in his appearance, but with a somehow distorted look--as though he had been squeezed in a hydraulic press. And the person wore elaborately ornamental trappings of a blackish-silver metal. "You must be a Jovian," he said, corking the thermos. "I've never seen one of your people before. You're more--ah--human than these others." "So they say. And you're the first Earthman I've ever seen. You're very--ah--_long_." They both laughed; then the Jovian introduced himself as a pilot on the regular Io-Mars freighters. He waved off Weems' introduction. "Don't bother, Weems," he said. "I know of you." "Indeed?" There was a pause. With the diplomatic instinct to avoid embarrassment whenever possible, the Earthman asked: "Why don't your people appear more often on Earth? You could chuck some of that osmium you have to wear here on Mars." "This?" The Jovian gestured at his trappings. "A mere drop in the bucket. I have a hundredweight in each shoe. But the reason is that Earth is relatively undeveloped in its space-culture--though, of course, much better developed than Jupiter. There are so few of us ... fifty millions on the whole planet." He shrugged whimsically. "We're growing, of course. There was a polygamy decree a few years ago--did you hear of it?"