There was something else Renner strained to see, for its fur was rust-red, as if it had been dipped in blood. It was the size of his own Motie, but with a smaller head, and as it raised and flexed its right hands it showed fingers so long and delicate that Renner thought of Amazon spiders. He touched his Fyunch (click)'s shoulder and pointed. "And that?"

"Physician. Emm Dee," Renner's Motie said. "We're a differentiated species, as you may have gathered by now. They're all relatives, so to speak. .

"Yah. And the Whites?"

"Givers of orders. There was one aboard ship, as I'm sure you know."

"Yah, we guessed that." The Tsar had, anyway. What else was he right about?

"What do you think of our architecture?"

"Ugly. Industrial hideous," said Renner. "I knew your ideas of beauty would be different from ours, but-on your honor. Do you have a standard of beauty?"

"Come, I will conceal nothing from you. We do, but it doesn't resemble yours. And I still don't know what you people see in arches and pillars-"

"Freudian symbolism," Renner said firmly. Sally snorted.

"That's what Horvath's Motie keeps saying, but I've never heard a coherent explanation," Renner's Motie said. "Meanwhile, what do you think of your vehicles?"

The limousines were radically different from the two-seaters that zipped past them. No two of the two-seaters were alike either-the Moties did not seem to have discovered the advantages of standardization. But all the other vehicles they had seen were tiny, like a pair of motorcycles, while the humans rode in low-slung stream- lined vehicles with soft curves bright with polish.

"They're beautiful," said Sally. "Did you design them just for us?"

"Yes," her Motie replied. "Did we guess well?"

"Perfectly. We're most flattered," Sally said. "You must have put considerable expense into... this..." She trailed off. Renner turned to see where she was looking, and gasped.

There had been castles like this in the Tyrolean Alps of Earth. They were still there, never bombed, but Renner had only seen copies on other worlds. Now a fairy-tale castle, graceful with tall spires, stood among the square buildings of the Motie city. At one corner a reaching minaret was circled by a thin balcony.

"What is that place?" Renner asked.

Sally's Motie answered. "You will stay there. It is pressurized and self-enclosed, with a garage and cars for your convenience."

Horace Bury spoke into the admiring silence. "You are most impressive hosts."

From the first they called it the Castle. Beyond question it had been designed and built entirely for them. It was large enough for perhaps thirty people. Its beauty and luxury were in the tradition of Sparta-with a few jarring notes.

Whitbread, Staley, Sally, Drs. Hardy and Horvath-they knew their manners. They kept firm rein on their laughter as their Fyunch(click) s showed them about their respective rooms. Able Spacers Jackson and Weiss were awed to silence and wary of saying something foolish. Horace Bury's people had rigid traditions of hospitality; aside from that, he found all customs strange except on Levant.

But Renner's people respected candor; and candor, he had found, made life easier for everyone. Except in the Navy. In the Navy he had learned to keep his mouth shut. Fortunately his Fyunch(click) held views similar to his own.

He looked about the apartment assigned him. Double bed, dresser, large closet, a couch and coffee table, all vaguely reminiscent of the travelogues he had shown the Moties. It was five times the size of his cabin aboard MacArthur.

"Elbow room," he said with great satisfaction. He sniffed. There was no smell at all. "You do a great job of filtering the planet's air."

"Thanks. As for the elbow room-" Rennet's Motie wiggled all her elbows. "We should need more than you, but we don't."

The picture window ran from floor to ceiling, wall to wall. The city towered over him; most of the buildings in view were taller than the Castle. Rennet found that he was looking straight down a city street toward a magnificent sunset that was all the shades of red. The pedestrian level showed a hurrying horde of colored blobs, mostly Reds and Browns, but also many Whites. He watched for a time, then turned back.

There was an alcove near the head of his bed. He looked into it. It held a dresser and two odd-looking pieces of furniture that Renner recognized. They resembled what the Brown had done to the bed in Crawford's stateroom.

He asked, "Two?"

"We will be assigned a Brown."

"I'm going to teach you a new word. It's called ‘privacy.' It refers to the human need-"

"We know about privacy." The Motie did a double take. "You aren't suggesting it should apply between a man and his Fyunch(click)!"

Rennet nodded solemnly.

"But ... but... Renner, do you have any respect for tradition?"

"Do I?"

"No. Dammit. All right, Renner. We'll sling a door there. With a lock?"

"Yah. I might add that the rest probably feel the same way, whether they say so or not."

The bed, the couch, the table showed none of the familiar Motie innovations. The mattress was a bit too firm, but what the hell. Renner glanced into the bathroom and burst out laughing. The toilet was a free-fall toilet, somewhat changed from those in the cutter; it had a gold flush, carved into the semblance of a dog's head. The bathtub was... strange.

"I've got to try that bathtub," said Rennet.

"Let me know what you think. We saw some pictures of bathtubs in your travelogues, but they looked ridiculous, given your anatomy."

"Right. Nobody's ever designed a decent bathtub. There weren't any toilets in those pictures, were there?"

"Oddly enough, there weren't."

"Mmm." Renner began sketching. When he had finished, his Motie said, "Just how much water do these Use?"

"Quite a lot. Too much for space craft."

"Well, we'll see what we can do."

"Oh, and you'd better hang another door between the bathroom and the living room."

"More privacy?"

"Yah."

Dinner that night was like a formal dinner in Sally's old home on Sparta, but weirdly changed. The servants-silent, attentive, deferential, guided by the host who in deference to rank was Dr. Horvath's Motie-were Laborers a meter and a half tall. The food was from MacArthur's stores-except for an appetizer, which was a melon like fruit Sweetened with a yellow sauce. "We guarantee it nonpoisonous," said Rennet's Motie. "We've found a few foods we can guarantee, and we're looking for more. But you'll have to take your chances on the taste." The sauce killed the melon's sour taste and made it delicious.

"We can use this as a trade item," said Bury. "We would rather ship the seeds, not the melon itself. Is it hard to grow?"

"Not at all, but it requires cultivation," said Bury's Motie. "We'll give you the opportunity to test the soil. Have you found ether things that might be worth trading?"

Bury frowned, and looked down at his plate. Nobody had remarked on those plates...they were gold: plates, silverware, even the wine goblets, though they were shaped like fine crystal. Yet they couldn't be gold, because they didn't conduct heat; and they were simple copies of the plastic free-fall utensils aboard MacArthur's cutter, even to the trademarks stamped on the edges.

Everyone was waiting for his answer. Trade possibilities would profoundly affect the relationship between Mote and Empire. "On our route to the Castle I looked for signs of luxuries among you. I saw none but those designed specifically for human beings. Perhaps I did not recognize them."

"I know the word, but we deal very little in luxuries. We-I speak for the givers of orders, of course-we put more emphasis on power, territory, the maintenance of a household and a dynasty. We concern ourselves with providing a proper station in life for our children."