“Two more klooganfal!” he exclaimed. (A ganfal is a criminal.) “Two more of the beasts that tried to grind down the workers; but you didn’t succeed, did you? Now we are the masters. You’ll find that out even before we reach Thora. Is either of you a doctor?” Kamlot shook his head. “Not I,” he said. The fellow, whom I took to be the captain of the ship, eyed me closely. “You are no Vepajan,” he said. “What are you, anyway? No one ever saw a man with yellow hair and blue eyes before.” “As far as you are concerned,” I replied, “I am a Vepajan. I have never been in any other country in Amtor.” “What do you mean by saying as far as I am concerned?” he demanded. “Because it doesn’t make any difference what you think about it,” I snapped. I did not like the fellow, and when I do not like people I have difficulty in hiding the fact. In this case I did not try to hide it. He flushed and half rose from his chair. “It doesn’t, eh?” he cried. “Sit down,” I advised him. “You’re here under orders to bring back Vepajans. Nobody cares what you think about them, but you’ll get into trouble if you don’t bring them back.” Diplomacy would have curbed my tongue, but I am not particularly diplomatic, especially when I am angry, and now I was both angry and disgusted, for there had been something in the attitude of all these people toward us that bespoke ignorant prejudice and bitterness. Furthermore, I surmised from scraps of information I had picked up from Danus, as well as from the remarks of the sailor who had announced that he would like to kill us, that I was not far wrong in my assumption that the officer I had thus addressed would be exceeding his authority if he harmed us. However, I realized that I was taking chances, and awaited with interest the effect of my words. The fellow took them like a whipped cur and subsided after a single weakly blustering, “We’ll see about that.” He turned to a book that lay open before him. “What is your name?” he asked, nodding in Kamlot’s direction. Even his nod was obnoxious. “Kamlot of Zar,” replied my companion. “What is your profession?” “Hunter and wood carver.” “You are a Vepajan?” “Yes.” “From what city of Vepaja?” “From Kooaad,” replied Kamlot. “And you?” demanded the officer, addressing me. “I am Carson of Napier,” I replied, using the Amtorian form; “I am a Vepajan from Kooaad.” “What is your profession?” “I am an _aviator_,” I replied, using the English word and English pronunciation. “A what?” he demanded. “I never heard of such a thing.” He tried to write the word in his book and then he tried to pronounce it, but he could do neither, as the Amtorians have no equivalents for many of our vowel sounds and seem unable even to pronounce them. Had I written the word for him in Amtorian he would have pronounced it ah-vy-ah-tore, as they cannot form the long _a_ and short _o_ sounds, and their _i_ is always long.