"For my part, I wish we'd never started," Skkiru grumbled. "What was wrong with our old culture, anyway?" That was intended as a rhetorical question, but Bbulas answered it anyway. He always answered questions; it had never seemed to penetrate his mind that school-days were long since over. "I've told you a thousand times that our old culture was too much like the Terrans' own to be of interest to them," he said, with affected weariness. "After all, most civilized societies are basically similar; it is only primitive societies that differ sharply, one from the other--and we have to be different to attract Earthmen. They're pretty choosy. You've got to give them what they want, and that's what they want. Now take up your post on the edge of the field, try to look hungry, and remember this isn't for you or for me, but for Snaddra." "For Snaddra," Larhgan said, placing her hand over her anterior heart in a gesture which, though devout on Earth--or so the fictapes seemed to indicate--was obscene on Snaddra, owing to the fact that certain essential organs were located in different areas in the Snaddrath than in the corresponding Terrestrial life-form. Already the Terrestrial influence was corrupting her, Skkiru thought mournfully. She had been such a nice girl, too. "We may never meet on equal terms again, Skkiru," she told him, with a long, soulful glance that made his hearts sink down to his quivering toes, "but I promise you there will never be anyone else for me--and I hope that knowledge will inspire you to complete cooperation with Bbulas." "If that doesn't," Bbulas said, "I have other methods of inspiration." "All right," Skkiru answered sulkily. "I'll go to the edge of the field, and I'll speak broken Inter-galactic, and I'll forsake my normal habits and customs, and I'll even _beg_. But I don't have to like doing it, and I don't intend to like doing it." All three of Larhgan's eyes fuzzed with emotion. "I'm proud of you, Skkiru," she said brokenly. Bbulas sniffed. The three of them floated up to ground level in a triple silence. * * * * * "Alms, for the love of Ipsnadd," Skkiru chanted, as the two Terrans descended from the ship and plowed their way through the mud to meet a procession of young Snaddrath dressed in elaborate ceremonial costumes, and singing a popular ballad--to which less ribald, as well as less inspiring, words than the originals had been fitted by Bbulas, just in case, by some extremely remote chance, the Terrans had acquired a smattering of Snadd somewhere. Since neither party was accustomed to navigating mud, their progress was almost imperceptible.