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By Root 2492 0

be right in my diagnosis when I noticed there wasn’t any clamp depressor in the parts they had supplied. They don’t deduct for that. If it had been a Hensler, I would have known I was right. How could I match up then? The top winner was a San Franciscan. So were three of the next four. And the fifth guy was from Los Angeles. They get big-city Educational tapes. The best available. Beeman spectrographs and all. How do I compete with them? I came all the way out here just to get a chance at a Novian-sponsored Olympics in my classification and I might just as well have stayed home. I knew it, I tell you, and that settles it. Novia isn’t the only chunk of rock in space. Of all the damned—”

He wasn’t speaking to George. He wasn’t speaking to anyone. He was just uncorked and frothing. George realized that.

George said, “If you knew in advance that the Beemans were going to be used, couldn’t you have studied up on them?”

“They weren’t in my tapes, I tell you.”

“You could have read—books.”

The last word had trailed off under Trevelyan’s suddenly sharp look.

Trevelyan said, “Are you trying to make a big laugh out of this? You think this is funny? How do you expect me to read some book and try to memorize enough to match someone else who knows.”

“I thought—”

“You try it. You try—” Then, suddenly, “What’s your profession, by the way?” He sounded thoroughly hostile.

‘‘Well—’’

“Come on, now. If you’re going to be a wise gu~ with me, let’s see what you’ve done. You’re still on Earth, I notice, so you’re not a Computer Programmer and your special assignment can’t be much.”

George said, “Listen, Trev. I’m late for an appointment.” He backed away, trying to smile.

“No, you don’t.” Trevelyan reached out fiercely, catching hold of George’s jacket. “You answer my question. Why are you afraid to tell me? What is it with you? Don’t come here rubbing a bad showing in my face, George, unless you can take it, too. Do you hear me?”

He was shaking George in frenzy and they were struggling and swaying across the floor, when the Voice of Doom struck George’s ear in the form of a policeman’s outraged call.

“All right now. All right. Break it up.”

George’s heart turned to lead and lurched sickeningly. The policeman would be taking names, asking to see identity cards, and George lacked one. He would be questioned and his lack of profession would show at once; and before Trevelyan, too, who ached with the pain of the drubbing he had taken and would spread the news back home as a salve for his own hurt feelings.

George couldn’t stand that. He broke away from Trevelyan and made to run, but the policeman’s heavy hand was on his shoulder. “Hold on, there. Let’s see your identity card.”

Trevelyan was fumbling for his, saying harshly. “I’m Annand Trevelyan, Metallurgist, Nonferrous. I was just competing in the Olympics. You better find out about him, though, officer.”

George faced the two, lips dry and throat thickened past speech.

Another voice sounded, quiet, well-mannered. “Officer. One moment.”

The policeman stepped back. “Yes, sir?”

“This young man is my guest. What is the trouble?”

George looked about in wild surprise. It was the gray-haired man who had been sitting next to him. Gray hair nodded benignly at George. Guest? Was he mad?

The policeman was saying, “These two were creating a disturbance, sir.”

“Any criminal charges? Any damages?”

“No, sir.’’

“Well, then, I’ll be responsible.” He presented a small card to the policeman’s view and the latter stepped back at once.

Trevelyan began indignantly. “Hold on, now—” but the policeman turned on him.

“All right now. Got any charges?”

‘‘I just—’’

“On your way. The rest of you—move on.” A sizable crowd had gathered, which now, reluctantly, unknotted itself and raveled away.

George let himself be led to a skimmer but balked at entering. He said, “Thank you, but I’m not your guest.” (Could it be a ridiculous case of mistaken identity?)

But Gray-hair smiled and said, “You weren’t but you are now. Let me introduce myself, I’m Ladislas Ingenescu, Registered Historian.”

‘‘But—’’