Sis had insisted I come along to the geography lecture. Most of the other girls who were going to Venus for husbands talked to each other during the lecture, but not _my_ sister! She hung on every word, took notes even, and asked enough questions to make the perspiring purser really work in those orientation periods. "I am very sorry, Miss Sparling," he said with pretty heavy sarcasm, "but I cannot remember any of the agricultural products of the Macro Continent. Since the human population is well below one per thousand square miles, it can readily be understood that the quantity of tilled soil, land or sub-surface, is so small that--Wait, I remember something. The Macro Continent exports a fruit though not exactly an edible one. The wild _dunging_ drug is harvested there by criminal speculators. Contrary to belief on Earth, the traffic has been growing in recent years. In fact--" "Pardon me, sir," I broke in, "but doesn't _dunging_ come only from Leif Erickson Island off the Moscow Peninsula of the Macro Continent? You remember, purser--Wang Li's third exploration, where he proved the island and the peninsula didn't meet for most of the year?" The purser nodded slowly. "I forgot," he admitted. "Sorry, ladies, but the boy's right. Please make the correction in your notes." But Sis was the only one who took notes, and she didn't take that one. She stared at me for a moment, biting her lower lip thoughtfully, while I got sicker and sicker. Then she shut her pad with the final gesture of the right hand that Mom used to use just before challenging the opposition to come right down on the Council floor and debate it out with her. "Ferdinand," Sis said, "let's go back to our cabin." The moment she sat me down and walked slowly around me, I knew I was in for it. "I've been reading up on Venusian geography in the ship's library," I told her in a hurry. "No doubt," she said drily. She shook her night-black hair out. "But you aren't going to tell me that you read about _dunging_ in the ship's library. The books there have been censored by a government agent of Earth against the possibility that they might be read by susceptible young male minds like yours. She would not have allowed--this Terran Agent--" "Paddlefoot," I sneered. Sis sat down hard in our zoom-air chair. "Now that's a term," she said carefully, "that is used only by Venusian riffraff." "They're not!" "Not what?" "Riffraff," I had to answer, knowing I was getting in deeper all the time and not being able to help it. I mustn't give Mr. Brown away! "They're trappers and farmers, pioneers and explorers, who're building Venus. And it takes a real man to build on a hot, hungry hell like Venus." "Does it, now?" she said, looking at me as if I were beginning to grow a second pair of ears. "Tell me more."