Koven stood at the window of Spotwood's shack, which looked down a long street to the central clearing which formed the crossroads of Maru. Bluish sky spread out overhead like sheets of hot metal, and the almost poisonously colorful foliage stuttered gently in a hot breeze. The nearly undressed inhabitants, skins belying only a touch of the bluish blood from Mars, idled along from hut to hut, talking or playing with the children. The only note of turmoil was sounded by the slapping skin drums from the far side of the village. Koven turned around to his host. "Are they beating the drums for any purpose?" he wanted to know. Spotwood took a drink from a sanitary plastic bubble. "Once a month everybody on North gets together for a shindig." He smirked with good-natured lasciviousness. "The whole rigamarole is years old. Guarantees that plenty of good strong babies will be born, and that the crops won't fail, or some such rot. O'course," Spotwood said laconically, "this monthly assembly would be the logical time to suspect, if they ever did anything but put on a sexual exhibition in that clearing down the road. Maybe," he added, "the head dancer's pelvis--a female, by the way--is tattooed with a message in some sort of invisible ink our poor old Earth eyes can't see. Her belly gyrations would guarantee high readership, if nothing else." Koven smiled thinly, as a knock rattled on the slatted door. Spotwood's eyes slitted down and jumped briefly to Koven's, in a glance which the latter interpreted to read, _News isn't slow in Maru. I'll bet this is the prime mover._ Koven instinctively patted the flat pistol beneath his coat, his back to the door as Spotwood opened it. "I understand we have a visitor in the village," came the sound of an unpleasant, wet and wheezing voice. "You're right," said Spotwood. "Come on in, Bruschloss." Molding his face into a careful expression of relaxed disinterest, Koven turned around to face The Hog. Bruschloss extended a pink gobby hand. "Koven, did you say? I'm always delighted to see anyone here with Earth blood in his veins." He laughed self-consciously, and the rolling folds of his belly quivered. "Even though we are on opposite sides of the political fence we can still be friends, I hope. You arrived at a good time. Tonight's the celebration." He seemed to breathe more quickly at the thought; he savored the words like a man aroused by a fetish. "Spotwood's been telling me," Koven said. "Has he, eh? He enjoys them too, I'll wager." No reply from Spotwood, save the pop of another gin globe being opened. "Have a drink, Bruschloss?" Spotwood asked. "No, I don't think so. Liquor makes me very sleepy. I want to be alert for the ceremony tonight. I love to watch Chemin dance." "Quite a woman," Spotwood agreed. "Er ... what is your line of business?" inquired Bruschloss of Koven, elevating the wrinkles on his steaming forehead into an expression of curiosity. "I came to help Jimmy finish up in a hurry."