A neighboring shop sold pharmaceuticals and Dalt browsed through aimlessly until he heard a fellow shopper ask for five hundred-milligram doses of Zemmelar, the trade name for a powerful hallucinogenic narcotic.

"You sure you know what you're getting into?" the man behind the counter asked.

The customer nodded. "I use it regularly."

The counterman sighed, took the customer's credit slips, and punched out the order. Five cylindrical packages popped onto the counter. "You're on your own," he told the man who pocketed the order and hurried away.

Glancing at Dalt, the counterman burst out laughing, then held up his hand as Dalt turned to leave. "I'm sorry, sir, but by the expression on your face a moment ago, you must be an off-worlder."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you think you just witnessed a very bold illegal transaction."

"Well, didn't I? That drug is reserved for terminal cases, is it not?"

"That's what it was developed for," the man replied. "Supposed to block out all bodily sensations and accentuate the patient's most pleasant fantasies. When I'm ready to go, I hope somebody will have the good sense to shoot some of it into me."

"But that man said he uses it regularly."

"Yeah. He's an addict I guess. Probably new in town ... never seen him before."

"But that drug is illegal!"

"That's how I know you're an off-worlder. You see—there are no illegal drugs on Tolive."

"That can't be true!"

"I assure you, sir, it is. Anything in particular you'd like to order?"

"No," Dalt said, turning slowly and walking away. "Nothing, thanks."

This place will take some getting used to, he told Pard as they crossed the street to the park and took a seat on the grass beneath one of the native conifers.

("Yes. Apparently they do not have the usual taboos that most of humanity carried with it from Earth during the splinter-world period.)

I think I like some of those taboos. Some of the stuff in that first shop was positively degrading. And as for making it possible for anybody with a few credits to become a Zem addict ... I don't like it.

("But you must admit that this appears to be a rather genteel populace. Despite the lack of a few taboos traditional to human culture, they all seem quite civilized so far. Admit it.")

All right, I admit it.

Dalt glanced across the park and noticed that there were a number of people on the white monument. Letters, illegible from this distance, had been illuminated on a dark patch near the monument's apex. As he watched, a cylinder arose from the platform and extended what appeared to be a stiff, single-jointed appendage with some sort of thong streaming from the end. A shirtless young man was brought to the platform. There was some milling around, and then his arms were fastened to an abutment.

The one-armed machine began to whip him across his bare back.

VII

"Finish that drink before we talk," El said.

"There's really not much to talk about," Dalt replied curtly. "I'm getting off this planet as soon as I can find a ship to take me."

They drank in silence amid the clatter and chatter of a busy restaurant, and Dalt's thoughts were irresistibly drawn back to that incredible scene in the park just as he himself had been irresistibly drawn across the grass for a closer look, to try to find some evidence that it was all a hoax. But the man's cries of pain and the rising welts on his back left little doubt. No one else in the park appeared to take much notice; some paused to look at the sign that overhung the tableau, then idly strolled on.

Dalt, too, looked at the sign:

A. Nelso

Accused of theft of private ground car on 9-6.

Convicted of same on 9-20. Appeal denied.

Sentence of public punishment to 0.6 Gomler units to be administered on 9-24.

The whipping stopped and the sign flashed blank. The man was released from the pillory and helped from the platform. Dalt was trying to decide whether the tears in the youth's eyes were from pain or humiliation, when a young, auburn-haired woman of about thirty years ascended the platform. She wore a harness of sorts that covered her breasts and abdomen but left her back exposed. As attendants locked her to the pillory, the sign came to life again:

H. T. Hammet Accused of theft of miniature vid set from retail store on 9-8. Convicted of same on 9-22. Appeal denied. Sentence of public punishment to 0.2 Gomler units to be administered on 9-24.

The cylinder raised the lash, swung its arm, and the woman winced and bit her lower lip. Dalt spun and lurched away.

("Barbaric!") Pard said when they had crossed the street and were back among the storefronts.

What? No remarks about being squeamish?

("Holograms of deviant sexual behavior posed for by volunteers are quite different from public floggings. How can supposedly civilized people allow such stone-age brutality to go on?")

I don't know and I don't care. Tolive has just lost a prospective citizen.

A familiar figure suddenly caught his eye. It was El.

"Hi!" she said breathlessly. "Sorry I'm late."

"I didn't notice," he said coldly. "I was too busy watching that atavistic display in the park."

She grabbed his arm. "C'mon. Let's eat."

"I assure you, I'm not hungry."

"Then at least have a drink and we'll talk." She tugged on his arm.

("Might as well, Steve. I'd be interested in hearing how she's going to defend public floggings.")

Noting a restaurant sign behind him, Dalt shrugged and started for the entrance.

"Not there," El said. "They lost their sticker last week. We'll go to Logue's—it's about a quarter-way around."

El made no attempt at conversation as she led him around to the restaurant she wanted. During the walk, Dalt allowed his eyes to stray toward the park only once. Not a word was spoken between them until they were seated inside with drinks before them. Logue's modest furnishings and low lighting were offset by its extravagant employment of human waiters.

It was not until the waiter had brought Dalt his second drink that he finally broke the silence.

"You wanted me to see those floggings, didn't you," he said, holding her eyes. "That's what you meant about catching 'a little of the flavor of Tolive.' Well, I caught more than a little, I caught a bellyful!"

Maddeningly patient, El sipped her drink, then said, "Just what did you see that so offended you?"

"I saw floggings!" Dalt sputtered. "Public floggings! The kind of thing that had been abandoned on Earth long before we ever left there!"

"Would you prefer private floggings?" There was a trace of a smile about her mouth.

"I would prefer no floggings, and I don't appreciate your sense of humor. I got a look at that woman's face and she was in pain."

"You seem especially concerned over the fact that women as well as men were pilloried today."

"Maybe I'm just old-fashioned, but I don't like to see a woman beaten like that."

El eyed him over her glass. "There are a lot of old-fashioned things about you ... do you know that you lapse into an archaic speech pattern when you get excited?" She shook herself abruptly. "But we'll go into that another time; right now I want to explore your high-handed attitude toward women."

"Please—" Dalt began, but she pushed on.

"I happen to be as mature, as responsible, as rational as any man I know, and if I commit a crime, I want you to assume that I knew exactly what I was doing. I'd take anything less as a personal insult."

"Okay. Let's not get sidetracked on that age-old debate. The subject at hand is corporal punishment in a public place."

"Was the flogging being done for sport?" El asked. "Were people standing around and cheering?"