A great unrest was among the people, for the time of decision was againat hand. The Elders voted upon the candidates and the sacrifice was affirmedover the objections of Ryllik, the oldest.

"It is wrong to capitulate thus," he argued.

But they did not answer him, and the young virgin was taken to thegrotto of smokes and fed the leaves of drowsiness.

Ryllik watched with disapproval.

"It should not be so," he stated. "It is wrong."

"It has always been so," said the others, "in the spring of the year,and in the fall. It has always been so." And they cast worried glances downthe trail to where the sun was pouring morning upon the world.

The god was already traveling through the great-leafed forest.

"Let us go now," they said.

"Did you ever think of staying? Of watching to see what the monster goddoes?" asked Ryllik bitterly.

"Enough of your blasphemies! Come along!"

Ryllik followed them.

"We grow fewer every year," he said. "One day we shall no longer haveany sacrifices left to offer."

"Then that day we die," said the others.

"So why prolong it?" he asked. "Let us fight them--now, before we areno more!"

But the others shook their heads, a summary of that resignation Ryllikhad watched grow as the centuries passed. They all respected Ryllik's age,but they did not approve of his thoughts. They cast one last look back, justas the sun caught the clanking god upon his gilt-caparisoned mount, hisdeath-lance slung at his side. Within the place where the smokes were bornthe maiden thrashed her tail from side to side, rolling wild eyes beneathher youthful browplates. She sensed the divine presence and began to bellow.

They turned away and lumbered across the plains.

As they neared the forest Ryllik paused and raised a scaly forelimb,groping after a thought. Finally, he spoke.

"I seem to have memory," said he, "of a time when things weredifferent."

"What are you doing there, human?"

"It's a long story."

"Good, I like long stories. Sit down and talk. No--not on me!"

"Sorry. Well, it's all because of my uncle, the fabulouslywealthy--"

"Stop. What does 'wealthy' mean?"

"Well, like rich."

"And 'rich'?"

"Hm. Lots of money."

"What's money?"

"You want to hear this story or don't you?"

"Yes, but I'd like to understand it too."

"Sorry, Rock, I'm afraid I don't understand it all myself."

"The name is Stone."

"Okay, Stone. My uncle, who is a very important man, was supposedto send me to the Space Academy, but he didn't. He decided a liberaleducation was a better thing. So he sent me to his old spinster almamater to major in nonhuman humanities. You with me, so far?"

"No, but understanding is not necessarily an adjunct toappreciation."

"That's what I say. I'll never understand Uncle Sidney, but Iappreciate his outrageous tastes, his magpie instinct and his grossmeddling in other people's affairs. I appreciate them till I'm sickto the stomach. There's nothing else I can do. He's a carnivorousold family monument, and fond of having his own way. Unfortunately,he also has all the money in the family--so it follows, like a _xxt_after a _zzn_, that he always _does_ have his own way."

"This money must be pretty important stuff."

"Important enough to send me across ten thousand light-years to anunnamed world, which, incidentally, I've just named Dunghill."

"The low-flying _zatt_ is a heavy eater, which accounts for itslow flying..."

"So I've noted. That _is_ moss though, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Good, then crating will be less of a problem."

"What's 'crating'?"

"It means to put something in a box to take it somewhere else."

"Like moving around?"

"Yes."

"What are you planning on crating?"

"Yourself, Stone."

"I've never been the rolling sort..."

"Listen, Stone, my uncle is a rock collector, see? You are theonly species of intelligent mineral in the galaxy. You are also thelargest specimen I've spotted so far. Do you follow me?"

"Yes, but I don't want to."

"Why not? You'd be lord of his rock collection. Sort of aone-eyed man in a kingdom of the blind, if I may venture aninappropriate metaphor."

"Please don't do that, whatever it is. It sounds awful. Tell me,how did your uncle learn of our world?"

"One of my instructors read about this place in an old space log._He_ was an old space log collector. The log had belonged to aCaptain Fairhill, who landed here several centuries ago and heldlengthy discourses with your people."

"Good old Foul Weather Fairhill! How is he these days? Give himmy regards--"

"He's dead."

"What?"

"Dead. Kaput. Blooey. Gone. Deeble."

"Oh my! When did it happen? I trust it was an estheticoccurrence of major import--"

"I couldn't really say. But I passed the information on to myuncle, who decided to collect you. That's why I'm here--he sent me."

"Really, as much as I appreciate the compliment, I can't accompanyyou. It's almost deeble time--"

"I know, I read all about deebling in the Fairhill log before Ishowed it to Uncle Sidney. I tore those pages out. I want him to bearound when you do it. Then I can inherit his money and consolemyself in all manner of expensive ways for never having gone to theSpace Academy. First I'll become an alcoholic, then I'll take upwenching--or maybe I'd better do it the other way around..."

"But I want to deeble here, among the things I've become attachedto!"

"This is a crowbar. I'm going to unattach you."

"If you try it, I'll deeble right now."

"You can't. I measured your mass before we struck up thisconversation. It will take at least eight months, under Earthconditions, for you to reach deebling proportions."

"Okay, I was bluffing. But have you no compassion? I've restedhere for centuries, ever since I was a small pebble, as did my fathersbefore me. I've added so carefully to my atom collection, building upthe finest molecular structure in the neighborhood. And now, to besnatched away right before deebling time, it's--it's quite unrock ofyou."

"It's not that bad. I promise you'll collect the finest Earthatoms available. You'll go places no other Stone has ever beenbefore."

"Small consolation. I want my friends to see."

"I'm afraid that's out of the question."

"You are a very cruel human. I hope you're around when I deeble."

"I intend to be far away and on the eve of prodigious debaucherieswhen that occurs."

Under Dunghill's sub-E gravitation Stone was easily rolled to the sideof the space sedan, crated, and, with the help of a winch, installedin the compartment beside the atomic pile. The fact that it was ashort-jaunt sport model sedan, customized by its owner, who hadremoved much of the shielding, was the reason Stone felt a suddenflush of volcanic drunkenness, rapidly added select items to hiscollection and deebled on the spot.

He mushroomed upwards, then swept in great waves across the plainsof Dunghill. Several young Stones fell from the dusty heavens wailingtheir birth pains across the community band.

"Gone fission," commented a distant neighbor, above the static,"and sooner than I expected. Feel that warm afterglow!"

"An excellent deeble," agreed another. "It always pays to be acautious collector."