The younger man, who had pulled up alongside again but facing the other way, said, “You’re speaking to the Dominie now, sir.” His accent was as alien and thick as that of the man with the beard. And his costume was similar save for minor details. On the way to the village, they had to halt while a flock of _baaa_ing gray sheep, tended by a husky-looking youngster and a long-haired black-and-white dog, crossed the dirt road. Pryor, who had never seen anything like them before, asked what they were, what they were for. The older man smiled and said, “Their wool supplies us with the clothing we wear. Their hides provide us with light leather. Their flesh provides us with meat for the table.” Pryor nodded, wishing he hadn’t asked. The idea of eating the flesh of living creatures--or recently living creatures--appalled him. He had an idea he wasn’t going to enjoy his dinner. The village, with its stone houses and thatched roofs reminded Pryor of a village in a fairy tale vidarfilm. He noted with growing amazement that all the inhabitants seemed to be fair of hair and skin, all wore the gay skirts and bonnets, regardless of sex. He was asked to alight in front of the largest house, one close by the stone church with its white wooden spire. The Dominie led him into a room of wholly unexpected comfort and applied flame to a pile of cut logs in a wide stone fireplace. This done, he produced two earthenware mugs and a stone bottle and said, “I doubt not but that your mission to Leith on Nevis is important. It is only fitting we indulge in a drop before we come to such matters.” The Dominie drained his mug without changing expression, but the innocent looking amber liquid made Pryor gasp. It seemed to burn his gullet and, seconds later, start a warming fire in his veins. When he could talk, he gasped, “What was that, Dominie?” “That,” said the older man, smiling through his beard, “is uisquebaugh, the water of life, known to the less ancient as whiskey.” “I’ve heard of it,” Pryor managed. He wondered if he weren’t dreaming the whole business, and shook himself mentally in an effort to awaken in the prosaic surroundings of Lab Able. But nothing changed. “I’m afraid,” he said, “I’ve brought you a problem, Dominie.” He wondered what the word meant. “I’ve got orders from headquarters, Sirius Sector to have this planet evacuated at once.” Courteously, the older man refilled Pryor’s mug, then poured more liquid fire into his own. He said, “And what is the alternative?” “There is no alternative,” Pryor replied bluntly. “In a matter of thirty-six hours, Earth-time, this little world is going to be blown to smithereens.” “I’ll say one thing for you, young man,” said the Dominie. “You don’t believe in beating about the bush.” He drained his mug once more, and added over its rim, “Is the universe at war?” “Not at present, I’m happy to say,” said Pryor.