it!"

Narli realized that he had again overstepped the invisible boundary
between candor and tactlessness. He poked at the nuts with a stylus.

"Honored by being the first of our species to be offered a
guinea-pigship," he murmured.

He had not considered this aspect of the matter before, but now that it
occurred to him, he was probably right.

"Oh, I don't mind, really." He waved away the other's sudden
commiseration. "You know I like being alone most of the time, so I won't
find that uncomfortable. Students are students, whether they're
Terrestrials or Saturnians. I suppose they'll laugh at me behind my
back, but then even here, my students always did that."

He gave a hollow laugh and unobtrusively put out one of his hands for a
nut. "At least on Earth I'll know why they're laughing."

There was pain on Slood's expressive face as he firmly removed the nut
tray from his friend's reach. "I didn't think of it from that angle,
Narli. Of course you're right. Human beings, from what I've read of
them, are not noted for tolerance. It will be difficult, but I'm sure
you'll be able to--" he choked on the kindly lie--"win them over."

Narli repressed a bitter laugh. Anyone less likely than he to win over a
hostile alien species through sheer personal charm could hardly be found
on Saturn. Narli Gzann had been chosen as first exchange professor
between Saturn and Earth because of his academic reputation, not his
personality. But although the choosers had probably not had that aspect
of the matter in mind, the choice, he thought, was a wise one.

As an individual of solitary habits, he was not apt to be much lonelier
on one planet than another.

And he had accepted the post largely because he felt that, as an alien
being, he would be left strictly alone. This would give him the chance
to put in a lot of work on his definitive history of the Solar System, a
monumental project from which he begrudged all the time he had to spend
in fulfilling even the minimum obligations expected of a professor on
sociable Saturn.

The salary was a weighty factor, too--not only was it more than twice
what he had been getting, but since there would be no necessity for
spending more than enough for bare subsistence he would be able to save
up a considerable amount and retire while still comparatively young. It
was pleasant to imagine a scholarly life unafflicted by students.

He could put up with a good deal for that goal.

But how cou