ct an art
as it was on Mert, and only a few had as yet learned to trust it.

The effect on the girl was startling. She seemed for a moment actually
terrified when it was finally made clear to her. She abruptly
retreated into a corner with her brother and mumbled low frantic
sounds. Travis grinned to himself but kept his face stoically calm.
But now the girl was out in the light and he could examine her clearly
for the first time, and he forgot about astrology entirely.

She was probably in her early twenties. She was dirtier than a
well-digger's shoes. She ran with a pack of cutthroats and thieves in
what was undoubtedly the lowest possible level of Mertian society. But
there was something about her, something Travis responded to very
strongly, which he could not define. Possibly something about the set
of her hair, which was dark and very long, or perhaps in the
mouth--yes the mouth, now observe the mouth--and also maybe in the
figure.... But he could not puzzle it out. A girl from the gutter.
But--perhaps that was it, there seemed to be no gutter about her.
There was real grace in her movements, a definite style in the way she
held her head, something gentle and very fine.

Now watch that, Travis boy, he told himself sharply, watch that. A
psychological thing, certainly. She probably reminds you of a long
forgotten view of your mother.

The girl arose and came back, followed this time by the young man. She
had become suddenly and intensely interested in his world--she had
apparently taken it for granted that it was exactly like hers, only
with space ships--and Travis obliged her by giving a brief sketch of
selected subjects: speeds, wonders, what women wore, and so on.
Gradually he worked the conversation back around to her, and she began
to tell him about herself.

Her name was, euphonically, Navel. This was not particularly startling
to Travis. Navel is a pretty word and the people of Mert had chosen
another, uglier sound for use when they meant 'belly button,' which
was their right. Travis accepted it, and then listened to her story.

She had not always been a criminal, run with the sewer packs. She had
come, as a matter of proud record, from an extremely well-to-do family
which featured two Senators, one Horary Astrologer, and a mercantile
tycoon--which accounted, Travis thought, for her air of breeding. The
great tragedy of her life, however, the thing that had brought her to
her present pass, was her abys