RETURN ENGAGEMENT By Margaret St. Clair The Earthman made the mistake of breaking a law on the alien world. Naturally he had to be chastised--in a manner to suit the aliens! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy January 1952 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "The ingratitude of humans," McBream said broodingly, "is amazing. Loan a Martian a couple of I.U.'s when he's in a spot, and he'll send you greeting cards on the anniversary for the rest of his life. Fish a terrestrial out of the water when he's drowning, and he sends you a bill from the tailor for resurfacin' his suit. Passengers!" McBream spat in the direction of the lucite cuspidor. I picked up the book from McBream's desk and examined it. It was beautifully printed on outsize sheets of silky preemitex, and bound in smooth, deep-garnet Vellumium. On the spine of the book, in shining miraloy, ran the words, FARQUARSON'S ENCHIRIDION OF EXTRA-TERRESTRIAL COOKERY. "This what you're so sore about?" I asked. "Sore?" McBream snorted. "Who's sore? Only petty, small-souled individuals get sore at things. Me, I'm suffering from an attack of righteous wrath. I'm not vindictive, but I hope Farquarson chokes over one of his own recipes." "The name sounds familiar," I ventured. "It should be. Farquarson is culinary editor of _Pro Homine_, the super-sharp magazine for men. You must have heard of him. That book in your hand is supposed to be his masterpiece. Masterpiece!" McBream snorted again. "It isn't as though he hadn't plenty of room for it," my friend continued in an aggrieved tone after a silence. "The first ten pages of the book are taken up with acknowledgments and expressions of gratitude--you know, stuff like, 'My deep thanks, too, are due to Logarithmia McCloy for her skillful and patient typing of this book's manuscript.' And it's dedicated to his hexapod, Waldmeister Schnitzel V. Luftraumzug, 'My six-legged friend and constant companion.' But does he mention Joseph McBream, first mate of the _S. S. Tisiphone_, anywhere in it? Just once? Just one single time? He does not. And yet, if it hadn't been for me that book would never have been written." "Did you help him with the recipes?" I asked. "I did not," Joseph returned decisively. "I'm no greasy groon-slinger. The recipes in the ENCHIRIDION--agh, what a flossy way to say handbook--came out of Farquarson's own little head. No, I didn't help him with the recipes. I only saved his life." "Tell me about it," I said. * * * * *