As if the thought of Dane's chief had summoned him, Van Rycke, his
scented tunic sealed to his bull's neck in unaccustomed trimness, his
cap on his blond head, strode down the ramp, broadcasting waves of
fragrance as he moved. He sniffed vigorously as he approached his
assistant and then nodded in approval.

"So you're all greased and ready--"

"Is the Captain coming too, sir?"

Van Rycke shook his head. "This is our headache. Patience, my boy,
patience--" He led the way through a thin screen of the grass on the
other side of the scorched landing field to a well-packed earth road.

Again Dane felt eyes, knew that they were being watched. But no Salarik
stepped out of concealment. At least they had nothing to fear in the way
of attack. Traders were immune, taboo, and the trading stations were set
up under the white diamond shield of peace, a peace guaranteed on blood
oath by every clan chieftain in the district. Even in the midst of
interclan feuding deadly enemies met in amity under that shield and would
not turn claw knife against each other within a two mile radius of its
protection.

The grass forests rustled betrayingly, but the Terrans displayed no
interest in those who spied upon them. An insect with wings of brilliant
green gauze detached itself from the stalk of a grass tree and fluttered
ahead of the Traders as if it were an official herald. From the red soil
crushed by their boots arose a pungent odor which fought with the scent
they carried with them. Dane swallowed three or four times and hoped that
his superior officer had not noticed that sign of discomfort. Though Van
Rycke, in spite of his general air of sleepy benevolence and careless
goodwill, noticed everything, no matter how trivial, which might have a
bearing on the delicate negotiations of Galactic Trade. He had not
climbed to his present status of expert Cargo-master by overlooking
anything at all. Now he gave an order:

"Take an equalizer--"

Dane reached for his belt pouch, flushing, fiercely determined inside
himself, that no matter how smells warred about him that day, he was not
going to let it bother him. He swallowed the tiny pellet Medic Tau had
prepared for just such trials and tried to occupy his mind with the work
to come. If there would be any work--or would another long day be wasted
in futile speeches of mutual esteem which gave formal lip service to
Trade and its manifest benefits?

"Houuuu--" The cry which was half wail, h