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“Martian mountain wine,” she warned him. “Rather overwhelming if you’re not used to it, and sometimes even if you are....” Her eyes rested on the general.

“But there are no mountains on Mars,” Clarey said, startled.

“That’s it!” Spano chortled. “When you’ve drunk it, you see mountains!” And he filled his glass again.

While they ate, he told Clarey about Damorlan—its beautiful climate, light gravity, intelligent and civilized natives. Though the planet had been known for two decades, no one from Earth had ever been there except a few selected government officials, and, of course, the regular staff posted there.

“You mean it hasn’t been colonized yet?” Clarey was relieved, because he felt he should, as an Archivist, have known more about the planet than its name and coordinates. “Why? It sounds like a splendid place for a colony.”

“The natives,” Spano said.

“There were natives on a lot of the planets we colonized. You disposed of them somehow.”

“By co-existence in most cases, Sub-Archivist,” Spano said drily. “We’ve found it best for Terrans and natives to live side by side in harmony. We dispose of a race only when it’s necessary for the greatest good. And we would especially dislike having to dispose of the Damorlanti.”