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The bar parlor was silent, except for the clink as Clarey put his mug on the table. If he held it an instant longer, he was afraid he would spill it. One or two of the men looked at him uneasily out of the corners of their eyes. Malesor spoke: “In the first place, you don’t know how powerful Earthmen are. In the second place, who wants to be powerful, anyway? The Earthmen haven’t done us any harm and they’re a good thing for the economy. My cousin in Zrig tells me one of ‘em come into his store a coupla months ago and bought out his whole stock, every bolt of cloth. Paid twice what it was worth, too. Live and let live, I say.”

The others murmured restlessly.

“If there are ways of doing things better,” Rini suggested, “why shouldn’t we have them, too?” His eyes darted quickly toward Clarey’s and then as quickly away.

Irik turned his head and looked directly at Clarey for the first time. “You’re silent, stranger. What do you think of the Earthmen?”

Clarey picked up his drink, finished the squfur and set the mug back down on the table. “I don’t know much about Earthmen. An ugly-looking lot, true, but there doesn’t seem to be any harm in them. Of course, living in Barshwat, you probably know a lot more about them than I do.”