“Mind your own business!” shouted the fat man, waving his stick like a club. “I’ll take care of her! She—”

“I never did!” squealed the girl. She burst into tears.

“Try it, Fat and Ugly!” the captain warned. “I’ll ram the stick down your throat!”

He was very close now. With a sound of grunting exasperation the fat man pulled his foot free of the box, wheeled suddenly and brought the end of the stick down on top of the captain’s cap. The captain hit him furiously in the middle of the stomach.

There was a short flurry of activity, somewhat hampered by shattering boxes everywhere. Then the captain stood up, scowling and breathing hard. The fat man remained sitting on the ground, gasping about ” — the law!”

Somewhat to his surprise, the captain discovered the girl standing just behind him. She caught his eye and smiled.

“My name’s Maleen,” she offered. She pointed at the fat man. “Is he hurt bad?”

“Huh-no!” panted the captain. “But maybe we’d better—”

It was too late! A loud, self-assured voice became audible now at the opening to the alley:

“Here, here, here, here, here!” it said in the reproachful, situation-under-control tone that always seemed the same to the captain, on whatever world and in whichever language he heard it.

“What’s all this about?” it inquired rhetorically.

“You’ll all have to come along!” it replied.

Police court on Porlumma appeared to be a business conducted on a very efficient, around-the-clock basis. They were the next case up.

Nikkeldepain was an odd name, wasn’t it, the judge smiled. He then listened attentively to the various charges, countercharges, and denials.

Bruth the Baker was charged with having struck a citizen of a foreign government on the head with a potentially lethal instrument — produced in evidence. Said citizen admittedly had attempted to interfere as Bruth was attempting to punish his slave Maleen — also produced in evidence — whom he suspected of having added something to a batch of cakes she was working on that afternoon, resulting in illness and complaints from fifty-two of Bruth’s customers.

Said foreign citizen also had used insulting language — the captain admitted under pressure to “Fat and Ugly.”

Some provocation could be conceded for the action taken by Bruth, but not enough. Bruth paled.

Captain Pausert, of the Republic of Nikkeldepain — everybody but the prisoners smiled this time — was charged (a) with said attempted interference, (b) with said insult, (c) with having frequently and severely struck Bruth the Baker in the course of the subsequent dispute.

The blow on the head was conceded to have provided a provocation for charge (c) — but not enough.

Nobody seemed to be charging the slave Maleen with anything. The judge only looked at her curiously, and shook his head.

“As the Court considers this regrettable incident,” he remarked, “it looks like two years for you, Bruth; and about three for you, Captain. Too bad!”

The captain had an awful sinking feeling. From what he knew about Imperial court methods in the fringe systems, he probably could get out of this three-year rap. But it would be expensive.

He realized that the judge was studying him reflectively.

“The Court wishes to acknowledge,” the judge continued, “that the captain’s chargeable actions were due largely to a natural feeling of human sympathy for the predicament of the slave Maleen. The Court, therefore, would suggest a settlement as follows — subsequent to which all charges could be dropped:

“That Bruth the Baker resell Maleen of Karres — with whose services he appears to be dissatisfied — for a reasonable sum to Captain Pausert of the Republic of Nikkeldepain.”

Bruth the Baker heaved a gusty sigh of relief. But the captain hesitated. The buying of human slaves by private citizens was a very serious offense on Nikkeldepain. Still, he didn’t have to make a record of it. If they weren’t going to soak him too much -

At just the right moment Maleen of Karres introduced a barely audible, forlorn, sniffling sound.

“How much are you asking for the kid?” the captain inquired, looking without friendliness at his recent antagonist. A day was coming when he would think less severely of Bruth; but it hadn’t come yet.

Bruth scowled back but replied with a certain eagerness, “A hundred and fifty m—” A policeman standing behind him poked him sharply in the side. Bruth shut up.

“Seven hundred maels,” the judge said smoothly. “There’ll be Court charges, and a fee for recording the transaction—” He appeared to make a swift calculation. “Fifteen hundred and forty-two maels.” He turned to a clerk. “You’ve looked him up?”

The clerk nodded. “He’s right!”

“And we’ll take your check,” the judge concluded. He gave the captain a friendly smile. “Next case.”

The captain felt a little bewildered.

There was something peculiar about this! He was getting out of it much too cheaply. Since the Empire had quit its wars of expansion, young slaves in good health were a high-priced article. Furthermore, he was practically positive that Bruth the Baker had been willing to sell for a tenth of what he actually had to pay!

Well, he wouldn’t complain. Rapidly, he signed, sealed, and thumb printed various papers shoved at him by a helpful clerk; and made out a check.

“I guess,” he told Maleen of Karres, “we’d better get along to the ship.”

And now what was he going to do with the kid, he pondered, as he padded along the unlighted streets with his slave trotting quietly behind him. If he showed up with a pretty girl-slave on Nikkeldepain, even a small one, various good friends there would toss him into ten years or so of penal servitude — immediately after Illyla had personally collected his scalp. They were a moral lot.

Karres — ?

“How far off is Karres, Maleen?” he asked into the dark.

“It takes about two weeks,” Maleen said tearfully.

Two weeks! The captain’s heart sank again.

“What are you blubbering about?” he inquired uncomfortably.

Maleen choked, sniffed, and began sobbing openly.

“I have two little sisters!” she cried.

“Well, well,” the captain said encouragingly. “That’s nice — you’ll be seeing them again soon. I’m taking you home, you know.”

Great Patham — now he’d said it! But after all -

However, this piece of good news seemed to have the wrong effect on his slave. Her sobbing grew much more violent.

“No, I won’t,” she wailed. “They’re here!”

“Huh?” said the captain. He stopped short. “Where?”

“And the people they’re with are mean to them, too!” wept Maleen.

The captain’s heart dropped clean through his boots. Standing there in the dark, he helplessly watched it coming:

“You could buy them awfully cheap!” she said.

In times of stress the young life of Karres appeared to take to the heights. It might be a mountainous place.

The Leewit sat on the top shelf on the back wall of the crockery and antiques store, strategically flanked by two expensive-looking vases. She was a doll-sized edition of Maleen; but her eyes were cold and gray instead of blue and tearful. About five or six, the captain vaguely estimated. He wasn’t very good at estimating them around that age.

“Good evening,” he said as he came in through the door. The Crockery and Antiques Shop had been easy to find. Like Bruth the Baker’s, it was the one spot in the neighborhood that was all lit up.

“Good evening, sir!” said what was presumably the store owner, without looking around. He sat with his back to the door, in a chair approximately at the center of the store and facing the Leewit at a distance of about twenty feet.