Now, about all the average galactic citizen knows about Apfahl these days is that it was the birthplace of Dachboden; as a matter of fact, that's all anybody thought of it as a hundred years ago. Someone says: "R. Philipp Dachboden, the Painter of Apfahl," and everyone nods knowingly. But it would be worth your while to give five-to-one odds against any given person being able to tell you what sector it's in. And, actually, that's as it should be; aside from the fact that R. Philipp Dachboden was born there, Apfahl has no claim whatever to galactic prominence. But it almost did. If it hadn't been for Leland Hale-- * * * * * In order to understand exactly what happened, we'll have to look over our cast of main characters. Aside from Leland Hale himself, there are two gentlemen who played no small part in the Apfahlian farce. Hinrik Fonshliezen was a tall, dark, lean specimen with a corvine nose, a vulpine mind, and a porcine greed. Lest this list of characteristics smack too much of the animalistic, let it be said that Fonshliezen's memory was _not_ elephantine, which was too bad for him. Hinrik's great grandfather, one Villim Fonshliezen, had managed, through dint of much hard labor and much underhanded business, to amass one of the biggest ranches in Sudapfahl. By the time Hinrik's generation rolled around, the Fonshliezen holdings were great enough to make it worth Hinrik's while to enter politics--which, of course, he did. In what is known as due time, he reached the position of State Portfolio, a chancellorship second only to the Prime Chancellor himself. It is easily understandable that his ambitions included the Primacy itself. He knew, however, that his chances of actually getting the office were slim. He was efficient; he could handle any of the Portfolios in the File with ease. He had been elected to the File from his own country because he had financial control of that country, but winning a General Election was something else again, because he was not a popular man. That is not to say he was _un_popular; probably he was no more generally disliked than any other politician. But he simply didn't have the knack of attracting favorable attention to himself; he was not, to put it bluntly, a lovable man. He had very carefully avoided doing anything that would make the public angry with him, but avoiding hatred is not the same thing as attracting love. Having come to this realization, Hinrik Fonshliezen found himself looking for either a good deed to do or a good press agent--or both. Let's leave him looking for the moment, and skip up above the border into the country of Nordapfahl. In the city of Grosstat, we will find the Museum of Cultural History, and within that museum, seated in a comfortable, book-lined office, we find the museum's director, Dr. Rudolf Mier.