ycled him through ultrasonics,
ultraviolet, antibio spray, rotating brushes and three final rinses. He
was finally admitted, damper but much cleaner to the central area. Men
and robots were stacking crates and he asked one of the men for Krannon.
The man looked him up and down coldly and spat on his shoes before
answering.

Krannon worked in a large storage bay by himself. He was a stocky man in
patched coveralls whose only expression was one of intense gloom. When
Jason came in he stopped hauling bales and sat down on the nearest one.
The lines of unhappiness were cut into his face and seemed to grow
deeper while Jason explained what he was after. All the talk of ancient
history on Pyrrus bored him as well and he yawned openly. When Jason
finished he yawned again and didn't even bother to answer him.

[Illustration]

Jason waited a moment, then asked again. "I said do you have any old
books, papers, records or that sort of thing?"

"You sure picked the right guy to bother, off-worlder," was his only
answer. "After talking to me you're going to have nothing but trouble."

"Why is that?" Jason asked.

"Why?" For the first time he was animated with something besides grief.
"I'll tell you why! I made one mistake, just one, and I get a life
sentence. For life--how would you like that? Just me alone, being by
myself all the time. Even taking orders from the grubbers."

Jason controlled himself, keeping the elation out of his voice.
"Grubbers? What are grubbers?"

The enormity of the question stopped Krannon, it seemed impossible that
there could be a man alive who had never heard of grubbers. Happiness
lifted some of the gloom from his face as he realized that he had a
captive audience who would listen to his troubles.

"Grubbers are traitors--that's what they are. Traitors to the human race
and they ought to be wiped out. Living in the jungle. The things they do
with the animals--"

"You mean they're people ... Pyrrans like yourself?" Jason broke in.

"Not like _me_, mister. Don't make that mistake again if you want to go
on living. Maybe I dozed off on guard once so I got stuck with this job.
That doesn't mean I like it or like them. They stink, really stink, and
if it wasn't for the food we get from them they'd all be dead tomorrow.
That's the kind of killing job I could really put my heart into."

"If they supply you with food, you must give them something in return?"

"Trade goods, beads, knives, the usua