lready
eating or coming back from a serving hatch with well-filled trays. All
of them were dressed in slacks, shirt, and moccasins like himself--the
outfit seemed to be a sort of undress uniform--and six of them were
ordinary in physical appearance. The other four differed so radically
that Ross could barely conceal his amazement.

Since their fellows accepted them without comment, Ross silently stole
glances at them as he waited behind Ashe for a tray. One pair were
clearly Oriental; they were small, lean men with thin brackets of long
black mustache on either side of their mobile mouths. Yet he had caught
a word or two of their conversation, and they spoke his own language
with the facility of the native born. In addition to the mustaches, each
wore a blue tattoo mark on the forehead and others of the same design on
the backs of their agile hands.

The second duo were even more fantastic. The color of their flaxen hair
was normal, but they wore it in braids long enough to swing across their
powerful shoulders, a fashion unlike any Ross had ever seen. Yet any
suggestion of effeminacy certainly did not survive beyond the first
glance at their ruggedly masculine features.

"Gordon!" One of the braided giants swung halfway around from the table
to halt Ashe as he came down the aisle with his tray. "When did you get
back? And where is Sanford?"

One of the Orientals laid down the spoon with which he had been
vigorously stirring his coffee and asked with real concern, "Another
loss?"

Ashe shook his head. "Just reassignment. Sandy's holding down Outpost
Gog and doing well." He grinned and his face came to life with an
expression of impish humor Ross would not have believed possible. "He'll
end up with a million or two if he doesn't watch out. He takes to trade
as if he were born with a beaker in his fist."

The Oriental laughed and then glanced at Ross. "Your new partner, Ashe?"

Some of the animation disappeared from Ashe's brown face; he was
noncommittal again. "Temporary assignment. This is Murdock." The
introduction was flat enough to daunt Ross. "Hodaki, Feng," he
indicated the two Easterners with a nod as he put down his tray.
"Jansen, Van Wyke." That accounted for the blonds.

"Ashe!" A man arose at the other table and came to stand beside theirs.
Thin, with a dark, narrow face and restless eyes, he was much younger
than the others, younger and not so well controlled. He might answer
questions if there was