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Dusk was falling. The takeoff blast of the rocket illuminated the area, casting weird shadows on the gently swaying grasses; there was a hot breath of dry air and the rocket dwindled toward the stars.

Extrone stood up lazily, stretching. He tossed the empty glass away, listened for it to shatter. He reached out, parted the heavy flap to his tent.

“Sir?” Ri said, hurrying toward him in the gathering darkness.

“Eh?” Extrone said, turning, startled. “Oh, you. Well?”

“We ... located signs of the farn beast, sir. To the east.”

Extrone nodded. After a moment he said, “You killed one, I believe, on your trip?”

Ri shifted. “Yes, sir.”

Extrone held back the flap of the tent. “Won’t you come in?” he asked without any politeness whatever.

Ri obeyed the order.

The inside of the tent was luxurious. The bed was of bulky feathers, costly of transport space, the sleep curtains of silken gauze. The floor, heavy, portable tile blocks, not the hollow kind, were neatly and smoothly inset into the ground. Hanging from the center, to the left of the slender, hand-carved center pole, was a chain of crystals. They tinkled lightly when Extrone dropped the flap. The light was electric from a portable dynamo. Extrone flipped it on. He crossed to the bed, sat down.