"There are four," I ticked them off on my digits. "First, violation of the ethical or moral code of your race; second, adequate amounts of cohabitation between the characters; third, brutality; and fourth--murderous assault." "Hmm. Sin, sex, sadism and slaughter," Donald commented. "You know, you might have something there." "I have prepared an outline and a synopsis of such a book," I said. "It is a historical novel. It should sell. Most historical novels do." "You've done what?" Donald gasped. Then he laughed. "Of all the insufferable egoists I've ever seen!" "Listen," I said, ordering him to silence while I outlined the opening chapter. "I can't stop you," Donald said. "But why should this happen to me? Isn't it bad enough to be bossed around by you lizards without having to be forced to ghost-write your amateur literary efforts?" "It is laid in the period of your history called the Renaissance," I continued, "and deals with a young man of a noble but impoverished house who rose to power by cleverness, amorality and skill with the sword." "I suppose the girl is the daughter of the local duke." "No," I said, "she is the favorite wife of a Saracen corsair." "Well, that's a switch," Donald said. "Tell me more." So I did. I outlined the opening and told him the major points of the whole story ... as the computer had synthesized it out of seven excellent novels of the period and a four-volume set of Renaissance history. Donald was enthralled. "You're right," he said. "It will sell. It's lousy literature, but it's got appeal. With this story and my writing we can out-Spillane Mickey." He was more enthusiastic than I had ever seen him appear before. "Who is Spillane?" I asked. Donald looked at me as though he thought I was crazy and shook his head. "I can get to work on it as soon as I get home," Donald said. "And if I keep at it, it'll be ready for mailing in a couple of weeks. I'll get it off to my agent and we'll see. I hate to admit it, but I think you're right about the yarn. It should sell like hotcakes." "That is fine. It should provide us with the medium of exchange, which is necessary in this society." "It's not necessary," Donald grinned. "It's essential." V Donald's prediction was a good one. The book sold--and sold well. Despite the outright plagiarism of ideas and source material it was hailed as a new novel--one that stimulated thought with its realistic approach to the life of the times. And we prospered amazingly. With the advance money, I had Donald buy the land on which the ship was resting, together with the valley and rimrock. Having thus secured our landing site I felt a bit more comfortable. The comfort was even greater when, at Donald's suggestion, a fence was placed around the property and electronic tell-tales were installed. The remainder of the royalties were used to purchase tin and supplies.