id rabble rouser," said Banner lightly. "We've got work
to do up here. How about getting back to your bunk?"

* * * * *

Two days later they made scheduled contact with the caravan of potato
fertilizer and tractor fuel. One thousand sleds, in tandem, were in
proper orbit two hundred miles above Sedor II. Their orders provided
for a landing on the planet and a short ship-leave, at the discretion
of the ship's pilot to refresh personnel.

Banner and Harcraft decided against landing. All necessary contact, now
that they were out of hyperdrive, could be accomplished with the ship's
radio. Short planetfalls were, psychologically, more trouble than they
were worth, often destroying the hard-earned, delicate space
orientation which was their only defense against the abysmal boredom.

"It's a dull place anyway," explained Harcraft to Arnold, who had come
up to the control room. "It's a mining and processing settlement. Maybe
five hundred families altogether. Got a funny religion, too."

"Huh, what kind?"

"Well," began Harcraft breezily, "sort of sacrificial you might say.
They believe in killing strangers who annoy their women."

"A dull place," agreed Arnold, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"Speaking of religion," said Banner, "I just talked to their monitor on
the radio. They've picked up twelve big ships on their scanner during
the past two days."

"Ankorbades?" asked Arnold quickly.

"Uh-huh. But not what you think. It's Easter time or some such thing at
home. They all return to the home planet and stay there for about
thirty days in the spring. Religious festival."

"Oh, yeah. They paint themselves blue and howl at both of their moons
for a month. I read about it once."

"We'll be home, too, pretty soon," ventured Harcraft, for whom the
return journey was subjectively always short.

"Let's hitch up to those sleds," Banner said. "It's time to get going."

Four weeks later two of the fertilizer sleds went out of phase and
automatically cut the ship out of hyperdrive.

"A welcome diversion," said Banner to Harcraft, "you are now about to
meet your mortal enemy face to face."

"Manual labor? Never," said Harcraft, assuming the pose of a man
bravely facing the firing squad. "Patrol duty is my lifeblood. Even
freight duty such as this I can stomach. But manual labor! Please
captain, let the air out of the ship, if you will, but never shall
these hands--"

"Somebody