Clarey realized what he hadn't noted consciously before--the natives spoke much more softly than Earthmen. Local custom two. "You'll be finding things a lot different here in Vangtor," the native told him. "Livelier, more up to date. F'rinstance, do the cars always run on time in Ventimor?" "Yes," Clarey said firmly. "Well, they don't here. Know why? That's because we've got more'n one chain of 'em." He made a noise like a wounded turshi. He was laughing. * * * * * Clarey smiled until his gums ached. "About the 39:12? It is rather important to me, as I understand the next chain does not leave for several days." The native lifted a chronometer hanging around his neck. "Ought to get in around 40 or so," he said. "Whyn't you get yourself a female or a bite to eat?" He waved his hand toward the two trade booths that were still open for business. Clarey was very hungry. But, as he got near the food booth, the stench and the sight of the utensils were too much for him. He went back to the carways and sat huddled on a banquette until his chain came in at 40:91. The car he picked was empty, so he stretched out on the seat and slept until it got to Zrig, very early in the morning. When he got out, day was dawning and a food booth hadn't had time to accumulate odors so he climbed to one of the perches and pointed to something that looked like a lopsided pie and something else that looked like coffee. Neither was what it appeared to be, but the pseudo-pie was edible and the pseudo-coffee was good. Somehow, the food seemed to diminish his fright; it made the world less strange. "Where you going, stranger?" the native asked, resting his arms on the top of the booth. "Katund," Clarey said. The other looked puzzled. "It is a village near Zrig." "That a fact?" The native bit his little finger. "You look like a city feller to me." "That is correct," Clarey said patiently. "I come from Qytet. It is a place of some size." He waited a decent interval before collapsing his smile. "Now, why would a smart-looking young fellow like you want to go to a place like this Katund, eh?" Clarey started to shrug, then remembered that was not a Damorlant gesture. "I have received employment there." "I should think you'd be able to do better'n that." The native nibbled at his thumb. "What did you say you worked at?" "I didn't. I am a librarian." The native turned away and began to rinse his utensils. "In that case, I guess Katund's as good a place as any." Surely, Clarey thought, even a Damorlant would at this point rise up and smite the food merchant with one of his own platters. Then he forgot his anger in apprehension. What in the name of whatever gods they worshipped on this planet could a librarian possibly be? He got up and was about to go. Then he remembered to be friendly and outgoing. "I have never tasted better food," he told the native. "Not even in Barshwat."