At the doorway, Ullhass folded himself into the posture of respect. “I greet you, Shiplord,” he said, as deferential as if Straha still commanded the 206th Emperor Yower. “I am always pleased when you honor my home by your presence.”

“I thank you for inviting me,” Straha replied. On the whole, that was true: these gatherings were as close as he could come to the society of his own kind. And if Ullhass, like Ristin, chose to wear red-white-and-blue body paint that showed he was a U.S. prisoner of war in place of the proper markings of the Race… well, he’d been doing that for a long time now, and Straha could overlook if not forgive it.

“Come in, come in,” Ullhass urged, and stood aside to let Straha do just that. “You have been here before-you will know where we keep the alcohol and the herb and the food. Help yourself to anything you think will please you. We are also doing some outdoor cooking in back of the house, with meats both from Tosev 3 and from Home.”

Sure enough, odors of smoke and of hot meat reached Straha’s scent receptors. “The smells are intriguing indeed,” he said. “I must be careful not to slobber on your floor.” Ullhass laughed.

Straha went into the kitchen and poured himself some rum-like most of the Race, he had no use for whiskey. He loaded a small plate with Greek olives and salted nuts and potato chips, then went out through the open sliding glass door into the back yard. Sam Yeager stood out there offering helpful advice to Ristin, who was cremating meat on a grill above a charcoal fire.

“I greet you, Shiplord,” Yeager said to Straha, and raised his glass in a Tosevite salute. “Good to see you.”

“How can you stand to drink that stuff?” Straha asked-Yeager’s glass did hold whiskey. “What is it good for but removing paint?”

The Big Ugly sipped the nasty stuff. “Removing troubles,” he answered, and sipped again.

That startled a laugh out of Straha, who took a drink of rum himself. “Well, but why not remove troubles with something that tastes good?” he asked.

“I like the way whiskey tastes just fine,” Yeager answered. “I have spent a lot of time getting used to it, and I see no point in wasting the accomplishment.”

That made Straha laugh, too; he enjoyed Yeager’s off-center way of looking at the world. “Have it as you will, then,” he said. “Every beffel goes to its own hole, or so the saying has it.”

“Befflem, yes.” Yeager’s head bobbed up and down. “All of your animals here now. Some of them smell very tasty.” He pointed back to the grill on which Ristin was cooking. “But others… Do you know about the rabbits in Australia, Shiplord?”

“I know what rabbits are: those hopping furry creatures with long flaps of skin channeling sound to their hearing diaphragms,” Straha answered. Yeager nodded once more. Straha continued, “And I know of Australia, because it is one of our principal centers of colonization-not that I will ever get to see as much, of course.” For a moment, his bitterness at exile showed through. “But, I confess, I do not know of any connection between rabbits and Australia.”

“Until a little more than a hundred years ago, there were no rabbits in Australia,” the Tosevite told him. “None used to live there. The settlers brought them. Because they were new, because they had no natural enemies to speak of, they spread all over Australia and became great pests. Your animals from Home are liable to do the same thing on big stretches of Tosev 3.”

“Ah. I see your concern,” Straha replied. After another sip of rum, he shrugged. “I do not know what to say about this. I do not know that there is anything to be said about it. Your settlers, I presume, brought their animals with them and transformed the ecology of the areas in which they settled till it suited them better. Our colonists are doing the same thing here on Tosev 3. Did you expect them to do otherwise?”

“If you want to know the truth, Shiplord, I did not think much about it one way or the other,” Sam Yeager said. “I do not think any Tosevites thought much about it till the colonization fleet came. Now reports from all over Tosev 3 are beginning to reach me. I do not know how big a problem your animals will turn out to be, but I think they will be a problem.”

“I would not be surprised if you were right-from a Tosevite point of view, of course,” Straha said. “To the Race, these animals are a convenience, not a problem.”

As if to prove what a convenience the Race’s domesticated animals could be, Ristin chose that moment to shout-in English-“Come and get it!” Straha let out a small snort of dismay. He knew Ristin and Ullhass had taken on as many Tosevite ways as they could, but a call like that offended his sense of dignity.

He was not so offended, however, as to keep from taking chunks of azwaca still sizzling from their time above the coals. Sam Yeager did the same. Unlike Straha’s driver, he showed no reluctance about trying the Race’s foods. After his first bite, he waved to get Ristin’s attention and spoke in English: “That’s pretty damn good.”

“Glad you like it,” the former infantrymale answered, again in the same tongue. Sure enough, he was nothing but a Big Ugly with scales and eye turrets.

But he did have good food. Straha tried the ssefenji next: a grainier, tougher meat then azwaca, and less sweet to the tongue. He didn’t like it so well, but it too was a taste of Home. And it turned out to go very well with cashews. Straha walked back into the house to get some more nuts, and filled up his glass of rum while he was there.

He glanced out the kitchen window. There sat his driver in the motorcar, looking, as best Straha could tell, bored. But the Big Ugly was in fact alert; Straha had never known him when he wasn’t alert. Seeing Straha in the window, he waved and saluted. Not many Tosevites could have recognized the ex-shiplord from such a brief glance, but he did. Straha waved back, in grudging but genuine respect.

Then he headed outside once more for another helping of ssefenji ribs. He caught Sam Yeager’s eye again. “And how is the Tosevite raised by the Race?” he asked.

“Well enough,” Yeager answered. “My hatchling and I spoke with her again, not so long ago, and with video this time. She would be a very attractive female, did she not shave off all her hair-and were her face more lively, of course.”

“Attractive? How could you judge over the telephone?” Before Yeager could answer, Straha did it for him: “Never mind. I forgot that you Big Uglies judge such matters as much by sight as by odor.”

“More by sight, I would say,” Yeager answered.

“Our females are the same, in judging a male’s mating display, but with males it is a matter of scent.” Straha looked for a way to change the subject; when not incited by pheromones, he did not care to discuss matters pertaining to mating. Having seen his driver put a new thought in his mind: “Are you aware that you have made enemies by poking your snout into places where it is not welcome? I quote someone in a position to know whereof he speaks.”

“I bet I can guess who he is, too,” Yeager said. Straha neither confirmed nor denied that. The Big Ugly’s laugh was harsh. “Yes, Shiplord, you might say I am aware of that. You just might. I killed a man last week, to keep him from killing me.”

“By the Emperor!” Straha exclaimed. “I did not know that. Why did he want to do such a thing?”

“He is too dead to ask, and his pal escaped,” Yeager answered. “I wish I knew.”

Straha studied him. “Has this incident any connection to the Big Uglies who fired shots at your home last year when the Chinese females and I were visiting?”

“I do not know that, either, and I wish I did,” Sam Yeager said. “As a matter of fact, I was wondering if you ever found out anything more about those Big Uglies.”

“Myself personally? No,” Straha replied. “Assassination is a tactic the Race seldom employs. My driver is of the opinion that the Chinese females were the likeliest targets for the Big Uglies. He is also of the opinion that you may have been a target yourself, this due to your snout-poking tendencies.”