“That was a fast pass,” commented the brunette, nodding at the loaded plate. “He dumps a feed-ob on you and you bounce it straight back, leaving all quits. I’ll have to wash dishes to get rid of mine, or kill one Seth has got on somebody else.”

“I stacked a load of canned stuff.” Harrison picked up knife and fork, his mouth watering. There were no knives and forks on the ship. They weren’t needed for powders and pills. “Don’t give you any choice here, do they? You take what you get.”

“Not if you’ve got an ob on Seth,” she informed. “In that case, he’s got to work it off best way he can. You should have put that to him instead of waiting for fate and complaining afterward.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“It’s your right. That’s freedom, isn’t it?” She mused a bit, went on, “Isn’t often I’m a plant ahead of Seth, but when I am I scream for iced pineapple and he comes running. When he’s a plant ahead, I do the running.” Her gray eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion, and she added, “You’re listening like it’s all new to you. Are you a stranger here?”

He nodded, his mouth full of chicken. A little later he managed, “I’m off that spaceship.”

“Good grief!” She froze considerably. “An Antigand! I wouldn’t have thought it. Why, you look almost human.”

“I’ve long taken pride in that similarity,” his wit rising along with his belly. He chewed, swallowed, looked around. The white-coated man came up. “What’s to drink?” Harrison asked.

“Dith, double-dith, shemak or coffee.”

“Coffee. Big and black.”

“Shemak is better,” advised the brunette as the waiter went away. “But why should I tell you?”

The coffee came in a pint-sized mug. Dumping it the waiter said, “It’s your choice seeing Seth’s working one off. What’ll you have for after—apple pie, yimpik delice, grated tarfelsoufers or canimelon in syrup?”

“Iced pineapple.”

“Ugh!” The other blinked at Harrison, gave the brunette an accusing stare, went away and got it.

Harrison pushed it across. “Take the plunge and enjoy yourself.”

“It’s yours.”

“Couldn’t eat it if I tried.” He dug up another load of chicken, stirred his coffee, began to feel at peace with the world. “Got as much as I can manage right here.” He made an inviting motion with his fork. “G’wan, be greedy and to heck with the waistline.”

“No.” Firmly she pushed the pineapple back at him. “If I got through that, I’d be loaded with an ob.”

“So what?”

“I don’t let strangers plant obs on me.”

“Quite right, too. Very proper of you,” approved Harrison. “Strangers often have strange notions.”

“You’ve been around,” she agreed. “Only I don’t know what’s strange about the notions.”

“Dishwasher!”

“Eh?”

“Cynic,” he translated. “One washes dishes in a cynic.” The pineapple got another pass in her direction. “If you feel I’ll be dumping an ob which you’ll have to pay off, you can do it in a seemly manner right here. All I want is some information. Just tell me where I can put my finger on the ripest cheese in the locality.”

“That’s an easy one. Go round to Alec Peters’ place, middle of Tenth Street” With that, she dug into the dish.

“Thanks. I was beginning to think everyone was dumb or afflicted with the funnies.”

He carried on with his own meal, finished it, lay back expansively. Unaccustomed nourishment got his brain working a bit more dexterously, for after a minute an expression of deep suspicion clouded his face and he inquired, “Does this Peters run a cheese warehouse?”

“Of course.” Emitting a sigh of pleasure, she put aside her empty dish.

He groaned low down, then informed, “I’m chasing the mayor.”

“What is that?”

“Number one. The big boss. The sheriff, pohanko, or whatever you call him.”

“I’m no wiser,” she said, genuinely puzzled.

“The man who runs this town. The leading citizen.”

“Make it a little clearer,” she suggested, trying hard to help him. “Who or what should this citizen be leading?”

“You and Seth and everyone else.” He waved a hand to encompass the entire burg.

Frowning, she said, “Leading us where?”

“Wherever you’re going.”

She gave up, beaten, and signed the white-coated waiter to come to her assistance.

“Matt, are we going any place?”

“How should I know?”

“Well, ask Seth then.”

He went away, came back with, “Seth says he’s going home at six o’clock and what’s it to you?”

“Anyone leading him there?” she inquired.

“Don’t be daft,” Matt advised. “He knows his own way and he’s cold sober.”

Harrison chipped in with, “Look, I don’t see why there should be so much difficulty about this. Just tell me where I can find an official, any official!—the police chief, the city treasurer, the mortuary keeper or even a mere justice of the peace.”

“What’s an official?” asked Matt, openly puzzled.

“What’s a justice of the peace?” added the brunette.

His mind side-slipped and did a couple of spins. It took him quite a while to reassemble his thoughts and try another tack.

“Supposing,” he said to Matt, “this joint catches fire. What would you do?”