By Lloyd Biggle Jr.
At the international Branoff IV, within the stunning land of Scorvif, stay the rascz, an industrious, creative, beautifully civilized race. Few of them are acutely aware that their filthy rich civilization is completely established upon the olz, a race of slaves owned through their god-emperor. The previous until the fields and paintings the forests and mines, and their present is hunger and the vicious, caustic stroke of the zrilm whip.
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Then he fed his projector a tube of innocuous cultural cubes and began to dictate an analysis of the friezes on one of the kru's summer palaces. He paused frequently, because each click of the projector made him wince, even though it did not remotely resemble the whum of a zrkm whip striking human flesh. IV Occasionally Liano Kurne could be found performing routine tasks in the records section. The morning after Farrari's shattering experience with the teloid cubes she was methodically snapping his dictation capsules into the transcriber, and each time she leaned over the machine her face and arms passed through its guide light.
Farrari exclaimed. "IPR assignments are permanent, except for command rank officers and specialists. Didn't they tell you? One year of leave for every ten years on station, and your travel time comes out of your year. If you make it as an agent, you'll probably save your leave time for retirement and then never retire. A lifetime just isn't long enough to learn a world well. But what am I talking about? You're CS, you're probably a specialist. " One of the workmen stepped forward and picked up Farrari's space bags.
Suddenly he wanted to know. He sprang from his bed and hurried to the records section. "I'd like to take a few teloids," he announced. Ganoff Strunk hauled himself from behind his desk, an expression of wounded dignity on his lined face. "Did we miss something? " "You did," Farrari assured him. " "The olz. Yes. " "Well--" Strunk clutched his ample belly and laughed convulsively. "You think all you have to do is walk up to an ol, point your camera, and say, 'Smile'? See here, my boy, as far as the ol is concerned, you are a thing, from the nether regions, and don't ever forget it!
The World Menders by Lloyd Biggle Jr.