"Quite all right," said Glaweh shortly.

"Make decisions how you like, but don't trouble me with them. Tomorrow I leave aboard the Camulke. Go or stay as you like."

Zonk's Star, a white dwarf of negligible luminosity, moved inconspicuously alone through a black gulf to the side of the Wisp, with a single small planet, Tassadero, huddling close.

Three races resided on Tassadero: the Zubenites of Lutwiler Country, numbering about a hundred thousand; half as many nomads roaming the Great Steppes and the Far Regions; and three million inhabitants of Fexel Country, which included the city Fexelburg. These three peoples retained their separate identities, prompting an unusually ebullient notice in the Planetary Index:

The folk of Tassadero are socially and psychologically immiscible, and perhaps genetically as well. Each race considers the other two physically repulsive, and they interbreed about as often as might an equal number of hummingbirds, flatfish and camels.

The Fexels are of ordinary Gaean stock; the average tourist will find them the least unusual of the three races. They cultivate a sophisticated life-style perhaps a trifle overzealously; some observers may find their zest for novelty and fads less than refreshing.

From the Fexel perspective, the Zubenites are religious fanatics of uncertain pedigree and unsavory habits, while the nomads are dismissed as mere barbarians. In their turn, the nomads deride the flutter fingered fops, intellectuals and popinjays" of Fexel Country. The nomads claim descent from the pirates who long ago launched their forays from Tassadero. Zab Zonk was the pirate king and his tomb, said to house a great treasure, has never been discovered. Every year thousands of "Zonkers" arrive from off-world and spend weeks or months searching the steppes and the Far Regions for the elusive tomb. The Zonkers bring with them, be it noted, a treasure of their own, in the form of foreign exchange.

A few other items may interest the tourist, jaded and bored after his failure to find Zonk's treasure. He may inspect the so-called "rivers of purple ooze" or enjoy winter sports at Mount Esperance. This is a dead volcano twenty thousand feet high, with slopes affording spectacular ski runs twenty miles long.

Glawen, sitting in the saloon of the Camuike, put aside the Planetary Index. Kirdy stood by the observation window, looking morosely off across space toward the bright flow of the Wisp.

Glawen's last attempt at conversation had brought only an uninterested monosyllable in response; he decided against asking Kirdy's opinion of Fexelburg and picked up the official publication of the Fexel Tourist Information Agency, a handsome volume entitled Tourist Guide to Tassadero. One entry described Zonk's treasure in fulsome detail. The text went on to assure the interested treasure-hunter: "The authorities further guarantee that whoever finds this valuable hoard will realize its total value; he will be assessed no taxes, dudes, deductions or special imposts."

Kirdy had turned away from the window.

"Listen to this," said Glawen. He read the paragraph aloud. While he read, Kirdy turned back to the window.

"What do you think of that?" asked Glawen.

"Most generous and truly kindly of the authorities I don't think." Kirdy spoke without turning his head.

"It also says here: "Persons are warned not to buy maps purporting to reveal the exact location of the treasure. It is amazing how many of these maps are sold! If one is offered such a map, he should ask the vendor: "Why, instead of selling me this map, do you not go to the stipulated location and possess the treasure for yourself?" The vendor will be prepared for the question, but no matter hov/ convincing his response, do not buy the map, as it will doubtless prove to be bogus."" "Ha!" said Kirdy.

"Aries bought such a map, from an old man who claimed to be dying and wanted some fine young fellow like Aries to enjoy the treasure. This sounded reasonable to Aries, but Floreste would not let him go out on the North Steppe to collect the treasure."

"That seems a bit unfair. Aries could have put the wealth to good use. He might even have bought a space yacht for the Bold Lions."

"That was his stated intention."

Glawen returned to the tourist guide. He learned that the "rivers of purple ooze" were in fact colonies of purple jellyfish which slid across the steppe in columns four hundred yards long and thirty yards wide. According to the tourist guide, the "rivers of ooze" were spectacles to excite even the most blase: "These wonderful phenomena are notable for the mystery of their being! They thrill us with their eerie beauty! But again, warnings must be cited! All is not gorgeous.

The odor exuded by these great worms is quite acrid. Fastidious folk are advised to study the creatures from an upwind vantage."" Glawen, reading further, came upon an article entitled "Zab Zonk:

In Song and Story," in which Zonk's exploits were chronicled and the dimensions of his fabulous treasure were calculated.

So far, we are dealing with what seems at least an approximation of fact [wrote the author]. Have others been as judicious? Decide for yourself, from this sampling of Zonk lore. Here is his preferred toast:

"I cry glory to Zonk, High, Full and Mighty Emperor of the Magnitudes, of Life and Death, of Now and Then, of Hither and Yon, of all things Known and Unknown, of the Universe and all the Elsewheres! Glory to Zonk! So be it. Drink."

When signing his name, Zonk was more modest, and his handwriting was oddly delicate: "ZONK: First and Last Over-man."

From sources unknown but very remote comes this apostrophe:

"ZONK: Avatar of Phoebus, Sublimation of all Melodious Beauties, He who Partakes of Uiskebaugh and Performs the Seventeen Signals of Love!"

When measured against such vistas, truth must defer, with neither apology nor regret, to the far more amiable arrangements of legend.

Kirdy turned away from the window and seated himself in a chair with his legs outstretched, his head back and his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Glawen put aside the book.

"What is your opinion of Tassa- dero?"

Kirdy responded in a monotone: "Fexelburg is not too bad.

The backcountry is dreary for a fact. The 'ooze rivers' give off a fearful chi fe I don't much like the food anywhere. In the towns they douse everything with strange spices and odd vegetables, and I don't believe they like it themselves, but they have to eat it because it is the new trend. One never knows what to expect and can't recognize it after it arrives." Kirdy gave a dreary chuckle.

"The ranchers eat well enough but Floreste ruined our visit for us. That was when we saw the purple ooze."

"What did Floreste do?"

' In his monograph The Purple Sliders of Tassadero the biologist Dennis Smith uses more direct language: "They give forth a majestic stench, which, beyond cavil or question, is a thing of truly epic scope. The tourist officials fail to mention a curious side effect of this stench: it penetrates the skin and hair of dainty ladies and dignified gentlemen alike, and cannot be eradicated, nor stifled, nor disguised.

The stink persists for several months. Sometimes it is argued that the tourist bureaus of Tassadero should be censured for their ambiguities."

"The rancher invited us out to his ranch and fed us royally.

His wife and children wanted us to demonstrate one or two of our acts, which we were quite willing to do, but Floreste, avaricious old bastard, demanded a fee. The rancher just laughed and sent us back to Fexel- burg. Everyone was fearfully vexed with Floreste. I was on the point of resigning the troupe then and there." Kirdy gave a sad laugh.

"Now I wish I had stayed on. There were no worries, no fears! Everyone knew what he must do. Sometimes, when Floreste wasn't watching, we could sneak in and play with the girls. Some of them were sheerly beauties! What jolly times we had!"

Glawen asked: "Did you ever play in Lutwiler Country?"

"Lutwiler Country?" Kirdy frowned.

"Wouldn't that be the Zuben- ites? We never went near them. They don't approve of such frivolity, unless it's free."

"Strange!" said Glawen.

"Why should they trouble with Thurben Island?"

Kirdy's interest, never too focused, became diffuse, and he returned to staring at the ceiling. Glawen gave silent thanks that the investigation was approaching its end.

In due course the Camuike landed at the Pexelburg spaceport.

Glawen and Kirdy disembarked and were briskly passed through the entry formalities, by officials dressed in unusually natty red and blue uniforms.

The official at the alien registration counter looked critically from Glawen's and Kirdy's documents to their garments. He asked with polite incredulity: "You are officers accredited to the Cadwal police?"

"That is correct," said Glawen.

"We are also IPCC affiliates."

The official was not impressed.