Eijkman looked as if he had swallowed something sour. He muttered, "His Perfectness suggests Criminal Alien Kinlock get the statement. Vote." The other four Maximums nodded. Eijkman said, "Am opposed. Four to one." Quesnay said, "Good--uh, give the uh statement. Guards, huh, find his baggage. Take him, er, to Dominant Rasmussen." Eijkman growled at me, "Will leave this planet at 18:00 o'clock Fourday!" VI: FIVEDAY EVENING By the time my papers had been located and the form filled and stamped by the Jury, and my luggage had been found and loaded on a three-wheeled cart, Joe's Sun was setting. A guard, who talked enough to reveal that his name was Smith, guided me through the stifling streets. Already the dark nebula was visible, and thunder-clouds on the horizon added to the possibility that the sky was having convulsions. Smith helped me pull the cart up a ramp to the planked walk of the outer wall. Guards stood at intervals and peeped through infra-red goggles or checked strange instruments. Some laughed after we passed. We crossed a bridge to the second story of a log building. Smith beat the door with his knuckles, until a girl, an adolescent edition of Betty Toal, opened it. "Fine weather, Minimum," she said. Smith asked, "Dominant Rasmussen here?" "Yes--" The girl became aware of what I was and backed away to a legal ten foot length. The guard helped deposit my cases inside the doorway. A huge, white-haired old man lumbered into the hall. He supported his obesity with a wooden rod curved at one end. "Dominant Alcaeus Rasmussen," said Smith, "Alien Hunter Ube Kinlock." Rasmussen's Maggiese nose tilted at the end so that the nostrils almost paralleled the plane of his puffy cheeks. His chins concealed his neck. "Was warned would come here," he grunted. "Eat. Then we talk of the Hog." I said, "Thanks," and turned to Smith, but he was gone. Rasmussen ushered me into a wood-sheathed room. A toothie thrust his striped head from a crack, squeaked once, and withdrew. About fifteen people sat at a table. Sighting me, one woman screamed, and all the females, including a girl about eight, pushed back their stools. "Sit down," Rasmussen commanded. "Will be no menace here." Rasmussen placed me at a small table in the corner and occupied a stool opposite me. He said, "Ordinances forbid close contact between alien males and Maggiese females. Eating together, too dangerous." A young man set a plate and cup before Rasmussen, who said, "Emilio, serve the alien also." Emilio furnished me with a bewildering assortment of bowls, cups, plates, and utensils, while glowering as if I had stolen his x-tops. The soup smelled somewhat like the preservative on the city walls, but I was too starved to care. "Do you know Betty Toal?" I took time to ask. "I seem to have caused her trouble with the authorities. I want to help her if possible."