er fuel left, beam coordinate 8741 kgl. Physical descript:
Unocc. flatland."

"Transformer fuel, boy!" Fannia said gleefully. "I believe we will get
to Thetis, after all." He punched the new direction on the ship's tape.
"If that fuel's still there."

"Should we read up on the unique social structure?" Donnaught asked,
still poring over _The Galactic Pilot_.

"Certainly," Fannia said. "Just step over to the main galactic base on
Earth and buy me a copy."

"I forgot," Donnaught admitted slowly.

"Let me see," Fannia said, dragging out the ship's language library,
"Cascellan, Cascellan ... Here it is. Be good while I learn the
language." He set the tape in the hypnophone and switched it on.
"Another useless tongue in my overstuffed head," he murmured, and then
the hypnophone took over.

* * * * *

Coming out of transformer drive with at least a drop of fuel left, they
switched to atomics. Fannia rode the beam right across the planet,
locating the slender metal spire of the Galactic Survey cache. The plain
was no longer unoccupied, however. The Cascellans had built a city
around the cache, and the spire dominated the crude wood-and-mud
buildings.

"Hang on," Fannia said, and brought the ship down on the outskirts of
the city, in a field of stubble.

"Now look," Fannia said, unfastening his safety belt. "We're just here
for fuel. No souvenirs, no side-trips, no fraternizing."

Through the port, they could see a cloud of dust from the city. As it
came closer, they made out figures running toward their ship.

"What do you think this unique social structure is?" Donnaught asked,
pensively checking the charge in a needler gun.

"I know not and care less," Fannia said, struggling into space armor.
"Get dressed."

"The air's breathable."

"Look, pachyderm, for all we know, these Cascellans think the proper way
to greet visitors is to chop off their heads and stuff them with green
apples. If Galactic says unique, it probably means unique."

"Galactic said they were friendly."

"That means they haven't got atomic bombs. Come on, get dressed."
Donnaught put down the needler and struggled into an oversize suit of
space armor. Both men strapped on needlers, paralyzers, and a few
grenades.

"I don't think we have anything to worry about," Fannia said, tightening
the last nut on his helmet. "Even if they get rough, they can't crack
space armor. And if they're not rough, we won't have