"You're drunk, too, Steff," the girl said. She had changed completely; her coquetry had dropped as if it were another mask. And it had been, Clarey thought--an advertising mask. An offer had been made, and, if he accepted it, he would get probably not Han herself but a reasonable facsimile. He tried to sort things out in his whizzing brain. "But why should the other ilfs ever see a Damorlant?" he asked, enunciating very precisely. "I've never seen another life-form to speak of. I thought the others weren't allowed off-planet--except the Baluts, and there's no mistaking them, is there?" For the Baluts, although charming, were unmistakably non-human, being purplish, amiable, and octopoid. "We don't forbid the ilfs to go off-planet," Spano proclaimed. "That would be tyrannical. We simply don't allow them passage in our spaceships. Since they don't have any of their own, they can't leave." "Then you're afraid the Damorlanti will develop space travel on their own," Clarey cried. "Superior race--seeking after knowledge--spread their wings and soar to the stars." He flapped his arms and fell off the stool. "Really, Steff," Han said, motioning for the servo-mechanism to pick Clarey up, "this is no way to conduct an interview." "I am a creative artist," the general said thickly. "I believe in suiting the interview to the occasion. Clarey understands, for he, too, is an artist." The general sneezed and rubbed his nose with his silver sleeve. "Listen to me, boy. The Damorlanti are a fine, creative, productive race. It isn't generally known, but they developed the op fastener for evening wear, two of the new scents on the roster come from Damorlan, and the snettis is an adaptation of a Damorlant original. Would you want a species as artistic as that to be annihilated by an epidemic?" "Do our germs work on them?" Clarey wanted to know. "That hasn't been established yet. But their germs certainly work on us." The general sneezed again. "That's where I got this sinus trouble, last voyage to Damorlan. But you'll be inoculated, of course. Now we know what to watch out for, so you'll be perfectly safe. That is, as far as disease is concerned." * * * * * His face assumed a stern, noble aspect. "Naturally, if you're discovered as a spy, we'll have to repudiate you. You must know that from the tri-dis." "But I haven't said I would go!" Clarey howled. "And I can't see why you'd want _me_, anyway!" "Modest," the general said, lighting a smoke-stick. "An admirable trait in a young intelligence operative--or, indeed, anyone. Have a smoke-stick?" Clarey hesitated. He had never tried one; he had always wanted to. "Don't, Clarey," the girl advised. "You'll be sick." She spoke with authority and reason. Clarey shook his head.