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.
"That means little to us. We arc not I great champions of the IPCC here at Fexelburg."
"Why is that?"
"Let us say that our priorities are different. They are long on regulation and short on flexibility. In practical cases we have yet to find them useful."
"That's surprising! The IPCC is generally well-regarded."
"Not in Fexelburg! Party Plock is the adjutant, or adjudicator or double commander, or some such title, and a full martinet to boot. In these parts we must be ready for anything; after all, Tassadero is for the most part savage steppe! Flexibility is the watchword and devil take the rule book If Triple Commander Partric Plock and his cookie pushers demur, it can't be helped. At Fexelburg first things come first."
"That sounds reasonable. I'll be interested to meet this dragoon Flock."
The official turned a sour side glance at Glawen's garments.
"If you go there dressed as you are, they'll bar you at the door and call you 'clown' besides."
"Aha!" said Glawen.
"I finally understand your disapproval.
These are the only clothes we own. Our luggage was lost and we have not yet made replacements."
"The sooner the better! I suggest that you put yourself into the hands of a capable haberdasher. Which is your hotel?"
"As yet we have made no choice."
"Allow me to suggest the Lambervoilles, which offers full prestige and high style. In Fexelburg we are ultramodern in all respects, and you will find nothing dowdy or disreputable."
"That is certainly reassuring."
"Remember: first things first! Before you attempt the Lambervoilles, dress for the public esteem. The Nouveau Cri Salon is just across from the Lambervoilles; they will turn you out in decent style."
"What is the most convenient transportation?"
"Leave the terminal; board the tram car. Presently you will pass a heroic statue of Zab Zonk at the murdering of Dirdie Panjeon. Alight at the next stop; you will see the Lambervoilles on the right hand and the Nouveau Cri on the left. Is all clear?"
"Quite clear and we thank you for your advice."
The two departed the terminal. They boarded a glistening glass and black metal tram and were carried swiftly toward the center of Fexelburg. The local time was midmorning;
