"Do you think that Greenwood has to be settled like Kilbourn, then?" Amy asked. "I think what Yerby's talking about is perfectly possible. There's a practically infinite number of human habitable planets, so why should any one of them have more than, say, ten thousand residents?"

"Yeah, I agree," Mark said. "But how are you going to keep people from settling? You heard those Zeniths today. They were surveying for a planned community of fifty thousand. So long as somebody can make a fortune by putting up housing for immigrant drafts from Earth, that's what he's going to do. Maybe the immigrants would be happier scattered in little communities of a hundred or so like here, but that's not the way the planners in Paris arrange things."

"Maybe it's time for Paris to stop making the arrangements," Amy said.

"There's enough people on Quelhagen saying that the Protector's only in charge because she's got a couple thousand troops," Mark said. "But she does have the troops."

Dr. Jesilind walked by the shed, peering at the faces of the folk he passed. Mark held himself very still, hoping Jesilind would continue on. With the same thought in her mind, Amy pulled her dangling legs up onto the roof.

The motion drew Jesilind's attention. "Ah, there you are, Amy!" he said. "And, ah, Mr. Maxwell."

The shed was seven feet high in front, where Mark and Amy sat, though it slanted lower in the back. The doctor mentally measured the effort needed to mount, then decided to remain where he was. "I'd been hoping to find you," he said. "Amy, could I bring you refreshment?"

The trio began to play "Jimmie Crack Corn." The bass had a remarkably pure resonance for an instrument that looked as crude as a packing crate. The dancers formed for a reel, regardless of the sex of their pairings. More spectators joined the circle, many of them holding drinking jars of Bannock whiskey in one hand.

Amy's fingers drummed on the edge of the roof, a ridged plate of cellulose plastic rather than boards of raw wood that would need shingles to be rainproof. "No thank you," she said. She turned her face deliberately toward Mark and continued their discussion with, "If Greenwood had its own government, it could limit density of development."

"That's a fine idea, but it won't work, dear girl," Jesilind said from beneath them. The doctor's voice made it clear that he understood law and government. Amy was simply naive. "Since Mr. Maxwell and your brother failed in their mission to get troops from Dittersdorf-"

Mark stiffened. He didn't speak.

"-the only government Greenwood 's going to get is some flunky from the Zenith bureaucracy. According to Yerby, the surveyors today said the investor they were working for was the Vice-Protector of Zenith. I don't imagine he's going to appoint a vicar who'll limit immigration."

"I didn't have to hear Yerby," Amy said. "I was there, Doctor. While you were no doubt at your studies."

"Amy," Mark said. He'd decided to ignore Jesilind's comments. "I agree with you, but people just don't do things the way they ought to."

"We'd better start doing things the way we ought to," Amy snapped. "Because if it's mankind versus the universe, Mark, the universe is going to win sooner or later! We can't just go on turning every planet we settle into a garbage dump."

"Well, Yerby's going to put in a package system," Mark said to soothe her. He didn't disagree with Amy, but he didn't see any point in getting worked up about what couldn't be changed.

A woman peered closely at the recorder and began hammering at the keypad to get it to play another song. "Apartment House Heart" continued, but the singer's rich tenor voice shifted upward into a cheeping falsetto.

"Amy dear," Jesilind said, "this is a frontier. You can't expect people to be as delicate as the residents of a settled world like you're used to on Kilbourn."

"Did you look at the downwind side of the Spiker when we took off in the blimp?" Amy said bitterly. "There's a stockyard there. People drive herds to the port and slaughter them as outgoing cargo. They just let the blood and waste drain into the river."

"Yeah, I saw that," Mark agreed unhappily.

"Regrettable no doubt," said Jesilind, "but folk living so close to the edge of raw nature have no surplus for civilized amenities. Why, they can't even afford to pay a medical man properly."

"Hey, lookee there!" bellowed a man standing on the upper deck of the house. "Look east!"

He pointed. The bright lights directly above him threw the harsh shadow of his outstretched arm across the dancers in the courtyard. "There's aircars coming! Zeniths coming back, I'll bet you!"

A good score of the Greenwoods hopped the low courtyard wall and trotted-sometimes staggered; a lot of Bannock whiskey had gone down the hatch-toward the vehicles in which they'd come. Folk hadn't brought guns into a neighbor's compound, but most had come armed when they answered Dagmar's appeal. Those hunting weapons were strapped to the flyers' decks or racked in the cabins of dirigibles.

Apart from that, the crowd didn't appear to be much concerned. People moved to where the house and other structures didn't block their view of the oncoming cars.

Mark hopped down and offered a hand to Amy. Dr. Jesilind had vanished into the house. Perhaps it would have been better to say that except for him the crowd didn't appear to be much concerned.

"Let's find Yerby," Amy said. "I saw him dancing."

The aircars approached a hundred feet in the air. Their multicolored running lights glittered like Christmas ornaments, and a great floodlight in the bow of each vehicle slanted its beam down onto the treetops.

"They're so quiet," Amy murmured as she led Mark through the milling guests.

"I guess they are," he agreed. It hadn't occurred to him that the ducted fans' muted whine was in any way unusual. The racket made by the rented car on Dittersdorf would have been unthinkable on Quelhagen or Earth. Kilbourn, for all the Bannocks' talk of the planet being built-up and civilized, obviously didn't have strict ordinances against noise pollution.

The cars hovered above the compound. Downwash from their powerful fans swirled dust and light objects. Folk moved naturally to the edges of the courtyard and let the vehicles settle.

Yerby was coming out of the house when Mark and Amy met him. He'd put on a green cloth coat with fur lapels. The fabric shimmered and sparkled in the light. Mark didn't recall ever in his life having seen an uglier garment.

"Hey Yerby!" a man called. "What do you want us to do?" Forty others muttered agreement.

"Yerby, the aircars are Quelhagen manufacture," Mark said. He shouted to be heard. He had to push a man away to keep the press of locals from blocking him.

Yerby gestured the crowd aside and put his big arms protectively around the shoulders of his sister and Mark. "Thank you, lad," he said. "I'd have guessed they were Zeniths. Well, anybody's welcome at my house if he knows how to behave. Let's us go talk to them."

The cars were big eight-person enclosed vehicles. There were built on similar chassis, but one of them had utilitarian appointments while the other was a limousine. The latter had panels of inlaid wood and its metalwork was plated with wavy bands of gold and platinum. Metal itself hadn't been of any particular value since space travel brought asteroids within reach, but workmanship like this aircar's had never been cheap.

The plain vehicle's doors popped open first. The first three men to exit wore beige uniforms. They trotted to the limousine to open the doors. Four guards in Quelhagen business dress followed the flunkies. They held fat, two-handed weapons of some sort. Their initial intention was probably to look tough. Mark grinned to see their bravado wilt when they took in the frontiersmen-and women-surrounding them; The guards looked like boats ringed by rocky cliffs.