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Duncan saw no need for anonymity. He was quite happy to meet anyone who wished to meet him, so he left his badge in the operating mode while he raided the lavish buffet, then beat a retreat to one of the smaller tables.

Although he could now function in Earth’s gravity better than he would once have believed possible, he still took every opportunity of sitting down.

And in this case it was essential even for Terrans, except those skillful enough to manipulate three plates and one glass with two hands.

He had been one of the early arrivals—this was a folly he never succeeded in curing during his whole stay on Earth-and by the time he had finished nibbling at unknown delicacies, the hall was comfortably full. He decided to start circulating among the other guests, lest he be identified for what he was-a lost and lonely outsider.

He did not deliberately eavesdrop; but Makenzies had unusually good hearing, and Terrans-at least party-going Terrans–seemed anxious to

spread in formation as widely as possible. Like a free electron wandering through a semiconductor, Duncan drifted from one group to another, occasionally exchanging a few words of greeting, but never getting involved for more than a couple of minutes. He was quite content to be a passive observer, and ninety percent of the conversations he overheard were meaningless or boring.

But not all…

I loathe parties like this, don’t you?

It’s supposed to be the only set of genuine antique inflatable furniture in the world. Of course, they won’t let you sit on it.

I’m so sorry. But it will wash out easily.

-buying at one fifty and selling at one eighty. Would you believe that grown men once spent their entire lives doing that sort of thing?

-no music worth listening to since the late twentieth century…. Make it early twenty-first.

Sorry-I don’t know who’s throwing this party, either.

Did El Greco come before Modigliani? I just can’t believe it.

Bill’s ambition is to be shot dead at the age of two hundred by a jealous wife.

How’s the Revolution going? If you need any more money from the Ways and

Means Committee, let me know.

Food should come in pills, the way God intended…. Anyone in the room

she’s not slept with? Well, maybe that statue of Zeus. French is not a dead language. At least five million people still speak it-or at least read it.

I’m getting up a petition to save the Lunar wilderness areas.

I thought it was the Van Allen Belt.

Oh, that was last year.

At that point, Duncan’s badge started to hum gently. For a moment he was taken by surprise; he had quite forgotten that it was part of a paging system. He looked around for the rendezvous point, a discreet little banner bearing the notice L-S HERE, PLEASE. Needless to say it was on the far side of the room, and it took him a good five minutes to plow through the crowd.

Half a dozen complete strangers were waiting hopefully under the banner. He scanned their faces in vain, looking for some sign of recognition. But when he got within name-reading range, one of the group broke away and approached him with outstretched hands.

“Mr. Makenzie-how good of you to co me! I’ll take only a few minutes of your time.”

From bitter experience, Duncan had learned that this was one of Terra’s great understatements. He looked cautiously at the speaker to sum him up and to guess his business. What he saw was reasonably reassuring: a very neat, goa teed little man wearing a traditional Chinese/ Indian shervani, tightly buttoned up at the neck. He did not look like a bore or a fanatic; but they seldom did.

“That’s all right, Mr.-er-Mandel’stahm. What can I do for you?” -I’d intended to contact you-it was pure luck, seeing your name on the list-I knew there could be only one Makenzie-what does the D stand for-Donald, Douglas, David—2’

“Duncan.”

“Ah, yes. Let’s move over to that seat-it’ll be quieter-besides, I love

Winslow Homer’s Fair Wind, even though the technique is so crude-you

can almost smell the, fish sliding around in the boat-why, what a coincidence-it’s exactly four hundred years old! Don’t you think coincidences are fascinating? I’ve been collecting them all my life.”

“I’ve never thought about it,” replied Duncan, already feeling a little breathless. He was afraid that if he listened much longer to Mr.

Mandel’stahm, he too would start to talk in jerks. What did the man want?

For that matter, was there any way of discovering the intentions of a person whose flow of speech seemed to be triggered by random impulses?

Luckily, as soon as they were seated, Mr. Mandel’stahm became much more coherent. He gave a conspirational glance to check that there was nobody in earshot except Winslow Homer’s fisher boys then resumed his conversation in a completely different tone of voice.