to extract the last few drops. "When we came to Uller,
we found a culture roughly like that of Europe during the Seventh
Century Pre-Atomic, or, more closely, like that of Japan before the
beginning of the First Century P. A. We initiated a technological and
economic revolution here, and such revolutions have their casualties,
too. A number of classes and groups got squeezed pretty badly, like
the horse-breeders and harness-manufacturers on Terra by the invention
of the automobile, or the coal and hydroelectric interests when direct
conversion of nuclear energy to electric current was developed, or
the railroads and steamship lines at the time of the discovery of the
contragravity-field. Naturally, there's a lot of ill-feeling on the
part of merchants and artisans who weren't able or willing to adapt
themselves to changing conditions; they're all backing Rakkeed and
yelling '_Znidd suddabit!_' now. You know, it's a shame that geek
messiah isn't a smart crook, instead of an honest fanatic; he could
take in the equivalent of a couple of million sols a year off the
North Uller merchants and the Equatorial Zone shipowners. But it is a
fact, which not even Rakkeed can successfully deny, that we've raised
the general living standard of this planet by about two hundred
percent."

"Rakkeed is a Zirk," von Schlichten said. "They're the nomads who hire
out to the northern merchants as caravan-drivers, and also prey, or
used to prey, on the caravans as brigands. Since our air-freighters
got into operation, neither caravan-driving nor caravan-raiding has
been a paying business, and our air-patrols have made caravan-raiding
suicidal as well. So the Zirks don't like us. The only thing they know
or are willing to learn is handling these six-legged riding-and
pack-animals we call hipposaurs. We employ a few of them as cavalry,
and a few more of them work as the local equivalent of _gauchos_, and
the rest just sit around and listen to Rakkeed's sermons."

Both jugs were empty. Colonel O'Leary, as befitted his junior rank,
picked them up; after a good-natured wrangle with von Schlichten,
Blount handed the colonel his credit-key.

"The merchants in the north don't like us; beside spoiling the
caravan-trade, we're spoiling their local business, because the
land-owning barons, who used to deal with them, are now dealing
directly with us. At Skilk, King Firkked's afraid his feudal nobility
is going to try to force a Runnymede on him, so