"We do not talk about it," I said with dignity. "It is tabu. Bad form." * * * * * "And now," announced the guide, glancing at his watch, "we have just time for the war dance before we leave for Vesta." "Against whom are they planning a war?" asked a small passenger, turning pale. "It's a vestigial ritual," Sam explained quickly, "dating back to the days when there were other--er--when there was somebody to fight. Just an invocation to the gods ... general stuff like that ... nothing to be afraid of. Isn't it so, Qan?" "Quite so," I replied, folding all my arms across my mother's cloak. "Come in peace, go in peace. Our motto." We started the dance. It wouldn't have got us a passing mark in first grade, where we'd learned it _rffi_ ago, but our version of the dance of the _zkuchi_ was plenty good enough for the tourists. "If I ever visit Earth, _Janna_ forbid," I thought to Ppon as we executed an intricate caracole, "I'm going to wear earplugs all the time." The dance finished. "Now everybody get together!" Sam shouted, clapping his hands to round up his charges. "We are about to leave little _Gchik_." "He should only know what _gchik_ means," Ppon sniggered mentally. "Little _Gchik_ is barren, dying, its past glories all but forgotten," Sam almost sobbed, "but still its simple, warm-hearted inhabitants carry on bravely...." "Couldn't we _do_ something for them?" suggested the stout female. Everybody murmured assent. This contingency arose all too often--a result of our being just too lovable. "No one can help us," I said in a deep voice, pulling the cloak over my face. The _idzik_ feathers trimming it tickled like crazy. "We must dree our own weird alone. Besides, the air of _Gchik_ has a deleterious effect upon human beings if they're exposed to it for longer than four hours." There was a mad scramble to reach the ship. "Stand by the atmosphere machine, Hsoj," I instructed, "to poison a little air in case anybody wants to take a sample." The scientist actually did, in a little bottle he seemed to have brought along for the purpose; but he got off the "asteroid" as rapidly as the rest of them, after that. We watched the spaceship dwindle to a silver mote in the distance. "Whew," Ppon thought, sinking to the surface. "That war dance sure takes a lot out of a fellow." * * * * * Then he conceptualized indignantly as he--as well as the rest of us--floated off the top level. "Somebody's cut the gravity!" "Must be Grandfather," I mentalized. "I suppose he thinks we've been out long enough, so he's warning us, just as if we were a bunch of infants. I guess we'd better go inside, though. Let's not forget to turn off the atmosphere, fellows. It uses too much energy and the old ones won't let us play topside any more." "You know everything, don't you, Qan?" Ppon sneered.