"The quality's high," sang a quartet of beautiful female humanoids, "but the price is meager. You _know_ when you buy Plummy Fruitcake from Vega." The salesman patted Michael's shoulder. "You staying a while in Portyork?" Michael nodded. "Then you'd better stick close to me for a while until you learn our ways. You can't run around loose by yourself until you've acquired civilized behavior patterns, or you'll get into trouble." "Thank you, sir," Michael said gratefully. "It's very kind of you." He twisted himself around--it was boiling hot inside the jet bus and his damp clothes were clinging uncomfortably--and struck his head against the bottom of the shelf above. "Awfully inconvenient arrangement here," he commented. "Wonder why they don't have seats." "Because this arrangement," Carpenter said stiffly, "is the one that has proved suitable for the greatest number of intelligent life-forms." "Oh, I see," Michael murmured. "I didn't get a look at the other passengers. Are there many extraterrestrials on the bus?" "Dozens of them. Haven't you heard the Sirians singing?" A low moaning noise had been pervading the bus, but Michael had thought it arose from defective jets. "Oh, yes!" he agreed. "And very beautiful it is, too! But so sad." "Sirians are always sad," the salesman told him. "Listen." * * * * * Michael strained his ears past the racket of the advideo. Sure enough, he could make out words: "Our wings were unfurled in a far distant world, our bodies are pain-racked, delirious. And never, it seems, will we see, save in dreams, the bright purple swamps of our Sirius...." Carpenter brushed away a tear. "Poignant, isn't it?" "Very, very touching," Michael agreed. "Are they sick or something?" "Oh, no; they wouldn't have been permitted on the bus if they were. They're just homesick. Sirians love being homesick. That's why they leave Sirius in such great numbers." "Fasten your suction disks, please," the stewardess, a pretty two-headed Denebian, ordered as she walked up and down the gangway. "We're coming into Portyork. I have an announcement to make to all passengers on behalf of the United Universe. Zosma was admitted into the Union early this morning." All the passengers cheered. "Since it is considered immodest on Zosma," she continued, "ever to appear with the heads bare, henceforward it will be tabu to be seen in public without some sort of head-covering." Wild scrabbling sounds indicated that all the passengers were searching their packs for headgear. Michael unearthed a violet cap. The salesmen unfolded what looked like a medieval opera hat in piercingly bright green. "Always got to keep on your toes," he whispered to the younger man. "The Universe is expanding every minute."