"I don't know." She was having a difficult time restraining herself. "They asked for the ministry of something or other. Then they said they were cooped up so long that they had to get some practice." Titus bellowed for attention. But nobody turned an ear, except a pirouetting ballerina who whirled to a stop nearby, glissaded over in front of him and made a theatrical display of bending over and planting a set of lip-prints on his forehead--a gesture that fed considerable fuel to Edna's vexation. "You're cute," the dancer tittered. "You got the word on this place, Pudgy? What is it--a stopover station?" Before he could answer, one of the tumblers shouted, "It's snowing!" The choral group broke reverently into the ancient carol "Noel" while the orchestra paused on an upbeat and swung into a jazzed-up "Jingle Bells." Perplexed, Titus stared at the dancing snowflakes. But that was impossible! It _never_ snowed here on McWorther's World! Then he remembered the grain peak he had skirted on the way home. It had extended high above the infrared and ultraviolet shields--into the naked, hot zone where restless winds had wafted the kernels eastward. He picked up one of the "flakes." _Popcorn!_ III Many light years away, the Emperor of the Eastern Cluster whirled around, kicked his bejeweled train out of the way and faced his chief adviser. "So they've opened up a new aid offensive?" "And a most vital one." The adviser blew on his spectacles and burnished the lenses against his sleeve. "A place called McWorther. Our intelligence got its coordinates from their consignment documents." "Never heard of it." "That's what's so insidious about this whole capitalist plot. They've kept it under their hats." "And why is it so vital?" The adviser directed the Emperor's attention to a space globe suspended from the ceiling. He pressed two buttons on the wall and twin beams of light intersected within the sphere. "That's McWorther's location." "Why--why--" the Emperor stammered. "That outflanks us completely!" "What concerns me is how many other undisclosed but settled worlds lie in that same general area." "A whole raft of them, no doubt," the Emperor said pessimistically. "What are we going to do?" "In this critical sector we've got to make friends--and fast! We'll begin with the McWorther place." "How far do you want to go?" "All the way. Empty the surplus bins. Clear out the warehouses. Let McWorther have every available pound of material and equipment." "Terms?" "Terms be damned! We let the Western Cluster steal a march on us. We've got to recoup. Everything goes as an outright gift--with all the cultural trimmings thrown in." * * * * * Titus splashed into the cellar and struck out for the hypertransmitter.