all."
"How do they tell you from other Illonas, then?"
"Oh, you mean my registry number. In the Aldebaranian language there are not the symbols—it would have to be. The Illona who is the daughter of Porlakent the potter who lives in the house of the wheel upon the road of…'"
"Hold everything—we'll call you Illona Porter." He eyed her keenly. "I thought your Aldebaranian wasn't so hot—didn't seem possible that I could have got that rusty. You haven't been on Aldebaran II for a long time, have you?"
"No, we moved to Lonabar when I was about six."
"Lonabar? Never heard of it—I'll check up on it later. Your stuff was all here, wasn't it? Did any of the red-headed person's things get mixed in?"
"Things?" She giggled sunnily, then sobered in quick embarrassment "She didn't carry any. They're horrid, I think—positively indecent—to run around that way."
"Hm… m. Glad you brought the point up. You've got to put on some clothes aboard this ship, you know."
"Me?" she demanded. "Why, I'm fully dressed…" She paused, then shrank together visibly. "Oh! Tellurians—I remember, all those coverings! You mean, then… you think I'm shameless and indecent too?"
"No. Not at all—yet." At his obvious sincerity Illona unfolded again. "Most of us—especially the officers—have been on so many different planets, had dealings with so many different types and kinds of entities, that we're used to anything. When we visit a planet that goes naked, we do also, as a matter of course; when we hit one that muffles up to the smothering point we do that, too. 'When in Rome, be a Roman candle', you know. The point is that we're at home here, you're the visitor. It's all a matter of convention, of course; but a rather important one. Don't you think so?"
"Covering up, certainly. Uncovering is different. They told me to be sure to, but I simply can't. I tried it back there, but I felt naked!"
"QX—we'll have the tailor make you a dress or two. Some of the boys haven't been around very much, and you'd look pretty bare to them. Everything you've got on, jewelry and all, wouldn't make a Tellurian sun-suit, you know."
"Then have them hurry up the dress, please. But this isn't jewelry, it is…"
"Jet back, beautiful. I know gold, and platinum, and…"
"The metal is expensive, yes," Illona conceded. "These alone," she tapped one of the delicate shields, "cost five days of work. But base metal stains the skin blue and green and black, so what can one do? As for the beads, they are synthetics-junk. Poor girls, if they buy it themselves, do not wear jewelry, but beads, like these. Half a day's work buys the lot."
"What!" Kinnison demanded.
"Certainly. Rich girls only, or poor girls who do not work, wear real jewelry, such as… the Aldebaranian has not the words. Let me think at you, please?"
"Sorry, nothing there that I recognize at all," Kinnison answered, after studying a succession of thought-images of multi-colored, spectacular gems. "That's one to file away in the book, too, believe me. But as to that 'junk' you've got draped all over yourself—half a day's pay—what do you work at for a living, when you work?"
"I'm a dancer—like this." She leaped lightly to her feet and her left boot whizzed past her ear in a flashingly fast high kick. Then followed a series of gyrations and contortions, for which the Lensman knew no names, during which the girl seemed a practically boneless embodiment of suppleness and grace. She sat down; meticulous hairdress scarcely rumpled, not a buckle or bracelet awry, breathing hardly one count faster.
"Nice." He applauded briefly. "Hard for me to evaluate such talent as that—I thought you were a pilot. However, on Tellus or any one of a thousand other planets I could point out to you, you can sell that 'junk' you're wearing for—at a rough guess—about fifty thousand days' work."
"Impossible!"
"True, nevertheless. So, before we land, you'd better give them to me, so that I can send them to a
"How do they tell you from other Illonas, then?"
"Oh, you mean my registry number. In the Aldebaranian language there are not the symbols—it would have to be. The Illona who is the daughter of Porlakent the potter who lives in the house of the wheel upon the road of…'"
"Hold everything—we'll call you Illona Porter." He eyed her keenly. "I thought your Aldebaranian wasn't so hot—didn't seem possible that I could have got that rusty. You haven't been on Aldebaran II for a long time, have you?"
"No, we moved to Lonabar when I was about six."
"Lonabar? Never heard of it—I'll check up on it later. Your stuff was all here, wasn't it? Did any of the red-headed person's things get mixed in?"
"Things?" She giggled sunnily, then sobered in quick embarrassment "She didn't carry any. They're horrid, I think—positively indecent—to run around that way."
"Hm… m. Glad you brought the point up. You've got to put on some clothes aboard this ship, you know."
"Me?" she demanded. "Why, I'm fully dressed…" She paused, then shrank together visibly. "Oh! Tellurians—I remember, all those coverings! You mean, then… you think I'm shameless and indecent too?"
"No. Not at all—yet." At his obvious sincerity Illona unfolded again. "Most of us—especially the officers—have been on so many different planets, had dealings with so many different types and kinds of entities, that we're used to anything. When we visit a planet that goes naked, we do also, as a matter of course; when we hit one that muffles up to the smothering point we do that, too. 'When in Rome, be a Roman candle', you know. The point is that we're at home here, you're the visitor. It's all a matter of convention, of course; but a rather important one. Don't you think so?"
"Covering up, certainly. Uncovering is different. They told me to be sure to, but I simply can't. I tried it back there, but I felt naked!"
"QX—we'll have the tailor make you a dress or two. Some of the boys haven't been around very much, and you'd look pretty bare to them. Everything you've got on, jewelry and all, wouldn't make a Tellurian sun-suit, you know."
"Then have them hurry up the dress, please. But this isn't jewelry, it is…"
"Jet back, beautiful. I know gold, and platinum, and…"
"The metal is expensive, yes," Illona conceded. "These alone," she tapped one of the delicate shields, "cost five days of work. But base metal stains the skin blue and green and black, so what can one do? As for the beads, they are synthetics-junk. Poor girls, if they buy it themselves, do not wear jewelry, but beads, like these. Half a day's work buys the lot."
"What!" Kinnison demanded.
"Certainly. Rich girls only, or poor girls who do not work, wear real jewelry, such as… the Aldebaranian has not the words. Let me think at you, please?"
"Sorry, nothing there that I recognize at all," Kinnison answered, after studying a succession of thought-images of multi-colored, spectacular gems. "That's one to file away in the book, too, believe me. But as to that 'junk' you've got draped all over yourself—half a day's pay—what do you work at for a living, when you work?"
"I'm a dancer—like this." She leaped lightly to her feet and her left boot whizzed past her ear in a flashingly fast high kick. Then followed a series of gyrations and contortions, for which the Lensman knew no names, during which the girl seemed a practically boneless embodiment of suppleness and grace. She sat down; meticulous hairdress scarcely rumpled, not a buckle or bracelet awry, breathing hardly one count faster.
"Nice." He applauded briefly. "Hard for me to evaluate such talent as that—I thought you were a pilot. However, on Tellus or any one of a thousand other planets I could point out to you, you can sell that 'junk' you're wearing for—at a rough guess—about fifty thousand days' work."
"Impossible!"
"True, nevertheless. So, before we land, you'd better give them to me, so that I can send them to a
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