The door slammed. Christmas blew an imaginary fly off his blunt nose, pushed one hand through his reddish wool and stabbed his male secretary's signal.

"I'm here, PC," said a cheerful otterlike being, from the side door.

"Dana, tell the Secretariat that Xemos has blown his wig again and they better get someone after him to oil him down. Lament will take care of the entry ruling, but get Tanya onto the s.e.x situation on Xemos-especially the standard mating ratios and female status. Porridan claims their females aren'tpeople and he needs a couple of hundred of them, mostly for the team chiefs, I gather. I'm sure it's a phony, but check it out, will you?... What's that?"

"The ruling on the squid propellant situation, PC. We finally got agreement: all contestants will submit to inksac removal, but riders must wear masks capable of filtering legitimate metabolic products. We do the chem-a.n.a.l."

"How about the I.Q. business? Are those Deneb squids animals, or do they go over to Galsports as people?"

"Not yet clear, PC. We could get a ruling on the squids, but a mammalian group has injected itself into the question. They claim any contestant capable of using a stopwatch isn't an animal."

"Whose animals are using stopwatches?"

"That Flangian outfit. Light equinoids."

"f.l.a.n.g.e? Wait, that's one of the teams in the cla.s.s that's been having so many long-shot wins. The Stat people from Mutuel put me onto it last night. They've had Lament running covert metabolic tests on the whole field-"

He punched his intercom savagely, and the mournful face of his security chief came on.

"Kurtis? Can you put a total snoop on the f.l.a.n.g.e delegation right away? Light horses. Yes, especially I want the stables, the animals. Sound, pictures, even smells if you have to. FTL priority around the clock until we get something. Oh, just a hunch, but it could be nasty-that's right, like the old Pyrrhoxa mess. You know what to look for. Thanks, Kurt."

Christmas sighed. The reputation of Raceworld, Inc.-Inc. for Incorruptible-rested heavy on his shoulders.

"There's another thing," said Dana, thoughtfully flicking a black tongue around his beautiful cream muzzle. "Maybe nothing to it, but that new Ankru team that started yesterday has won two of their first three starts. All in different cla.s.ses. One herbiamph, a carnimammal and an N.F.A. The N.F.A. came in second." "Dana, your hunches are golden. I'll never forget that alleged herbivore that tried to eat our starter....

When's Ankru running next?"

"Just coming up, PC. Giant armored reps on the main track."

"Could I sneak down and take a look?"

Dana's bristles twitched at the big human's cublike eagerness.

"Okay, but remember the Gal Q conference in half a unit, PC. Please keep your caller open."

Christmas blew joyfully as he wrestled the commocollar onto his thick neck and stepped out onto the balcony to mount his airsled. Raceworld! His Raceworld. His nose wrinkled in the spicy breeze from a thousand racetracks on which ran, hopped, flopped, swam, slithered, humped, darted and thundered the racing beasts of a million planets. Raceworld the perfect planet, turning stately through equal hours of flawless day and balmy floodlit night. Her utterly predictable climate graded smoothly from equator to pole, offering every oxygen-breather its natural optimum.

Directly in front of Christmas's equatorial headquarters lay the major track for the most spectacular of all races-the gaint armored reptiles, general galaxy favorites. Other hot-climate beasts ran here too: big cats, savannah ungulates, and giant insects and arachnoids. On his left lay the mountain ranges that held the canyons, pylons and airborn stands of the flighted races. On his right glittered the sea world where aquatic forms competed. Beyond the track in front was a great hotel and recreation complex, and beyond that, stretching around the planet's curve, lay the special-atmosphere domes and exotic courses where indescribable creatures met to dig or spin or spit or display whatever compet.i.tive frenzy their home worlds had developed as sport. All for the honor of those home worlds-and incidentally to the honor and profit of Raceworld and its Solterran staff.

Christmas cast an eye up to the commo satellite-"the eyes of the galaxy are on you!"-andchecked his chronometer. The vast mutuel boards were showing a Myrian entry as favorite. He skimmed past them to land by the backstretch rail where the giant reptiles were warming up, making the ground quake. The polished bodies blazed their riders almost invisible behind fantastically a.s.sorted shoulder-plates.

"Great sight, isn't it, sir?"

Christmas recognized the tall ebony boy as one of Hal Lament's veterinary interns. They leaned together on the rail to watch a rider trying to control his mount's tendency to thrash a ten-ton tail. The rider, an arthropod type from around Sirius, Christmas guessed, worked feverishly with his sting-straps on the creature's hind brain. Christmas' main interest, the Ankru entry, was a low-slung, nondescript red beast whose huge wither-fans concealed his jockey.

The first brush was over, and the field began to fall in behind the tremendous scaffolds of the traveling start gate.

"THE FIELD IS IN MOTION!" A roar came from the stands. Galaxy-wide betting was always heavy for this one.

The arthropod went by in pole position, still making adjustments. Number Two was the Myrian favorite, a towering green monster with a s...o...b..ring trunk of a head thirty feet off the ground. Its rider gleamed white as they pa.s.sed-apparently a human girl.

Dust hid the rest, and Christmas headed back to the finish-line, circling the boards at ground level since it was illegal to fly during a race. He was grinning at himself for pretending to check up in person when the tridi tapes would show him every detail.

A confused booming filled the air as the field came around the last turn. The green Myrian was in the lead, fighting off the bid of a yellow monster with a ten-foot frill on its jaws. Red Ankru was holding back in midfield; Christmas could see steam as the rider sprayed coolant on its rump.

The crowd was rising and howling, the ground thrummed under the punishment of twenty-ton drumsticks. Scales flashed through the dust kicked up by the great splay feet. In the glitter and rush of enormous bodies, Christmas saw the Myrian girl going to her heat-straps. The yellow challenger had faded and now a long brown neck was lunging up. Her green behemoth began to pull ahead and the field was almost past when he caught the boom-boom-boom of an animal coming up fast on the outside. It was red Ankru, leveled out to rocket speed. The stands exploded-the girl worked madly-but the low red monster barreled ahead across the line, its rider popping up and down like a ping-pong ball between the thrashing withers. Christmas sledded along for a closer look.

"Sir! Sir! Look out-the girl-stop her!"

The voice of the young intern blasted his collar. Christmas turned, saw the green saurian now riderless, its long neck bent to a figure in the dust. The girl's pale arms were up and between them was a glint of metal. Christmas lobbed his sled over the rail and tumbled off with a fist around her wrists.

She didn't struggle. Her eyes opened to stare up wildly at him, her mouth ceased whispering and fell open too. Her wrists were like icy twigs. Christmas gently disengaged her three-foot razor-bright sword.

"No, no, no," he told her, urging her up. She rose shakily-eight feet tall skinny and naked as a fork, except for a crimson sword-belt around her navel. She had no body hair, and one breast had been removed.

"Oy ban s'cred warro vergan f'Myria!" she protested, reaching for the sword.

"Anybody know what she's saying?" Christmas fended her off.

"I think she says she's a sacred warrior virgin from Myria," the young intern panted. "She has to kill herself because she lost the race."

"Oh, now, she can't do that. Tell her she must ride in other races and win."

"Oy ban s'cred warro vergan f'Myria," the girl repeated.

"Ser Nisrair from Gal Q is on the way in," said Dana's voice in his collar."You-Doctor what's-your-name-Ooloolulloolah?-get her over to Infirmary, will you?"

As he turned to go the girl screamed like a peahen and grabbed for the sword. Instinctively he raised it overhead. Bystanders goggled and backed away from the odd tableau.

"You can have it if you swear not to harm yourself. Tell her, Doc, make her swear, right?"

The girl knelt and began to recite in a high treble.

"Ser Nisrair is here, PC," said his collar. Christmas peeled her arms off his knees, tossed the sword to the intern and took off in a zoom for the balcony. He stepped into his office just as Dana was ushering the Gal Q liaison officer through the king-sized folding doors. Ser Nisrair's steel-blue carapace towered over Christmas.

"Good morning Peter," Nisrair intoned melodiously, retracting his lower limbs so that he rested on his edge at man-height. Like all the Gal Center people he exuded a firm benevolence which made Christmas mildly twitchy.

"Hi, Ser. How are the Magellans doing? I take it that's what you came to discuss?"

"Very true, Peter," beamed Nisrair, as though he were giving Christmas an A in fractions. "We are, as you know, showing them over Raceworld since they expressed an interest during their recent tour of Galactic Center."

"Primitive of them," Christmas murmured. He knew Gal Center took a slightly patronizing view of Raceworld-"our charming toy"-although they were keenly aware of Raceworld's use in helping cement the million-planet federation.

"What have they seen?"

"We took them to North Pole yesterday for Communications and the galactic computer."

Surprisingly, all four of Nisrair's eyestalks turned on Christmas. "It is a little difficult, Peter.... Nothing seems to interest them. They are so very different... and it is so very important that we establish at least a little rapport."

His antennae were in rigid formal position. Christmas realized the big alien was actually worried.

"Something here is bound to tickle them, Ser. Hasn't it worked on every visitor so far? Even if they're from another galaxy, they can't be all that different. So the hardware didn't fascinate them; maybe the economics of the galactic betting system will. Or the Secretariat's display of xen.o.biology and alien housekeeping. After all, our galaxy is bigger than the Clouds; the sheer size and range of it all has to be impressive."

Nisrair's antennae were still rigid; Christmas went on.

"If that fails, there's always the psy-math boys down at Pole South, forecasting the results of their own forecasts. Remember, that's what finally lured those dematerialized clots from the Horsehead into the Federation?"

"I hope so, Peter... they are very powerful, you know. Their equipment-very advanced."

Big man and bigger coleopteran eyed each other in wordless unity. Neither wanted to speak of the possibility of intergalactic hostility resulting from First Contact.

"I'll do anything I can, Ser, you know that."

"I was going to say... if they express some deske, no matter how unorthodox-"

"Anything at all, Ser. They can break all the rules."

"Thank you." Ser hoisted his bulk and paused before the balcony on his way out. "Delightful," he murmured, again avuncularly bland. "Always an idyllic interlude to visit here. You lead an Arcadian life, Peter."

"Kurtis called, PC," said Dana, as usual slipping in before Christmas could signal. "He has the net on the f.l.a.n.g.e team going, but there's nothing to report yet except that the drivers seem to be playing somegame with their toes."

"How Arcadian," Christmas grunted.

"Also, there's a complaint from one of the big cat teams. They claim the target doesn't look human enough, their beast won't chase it."

"Pa.s.s that one to Detweiler; that's a Secretariat problem.... Oh! On your Ankru hunch: run me the tridis of all their animals, will you? That giant rep win makes them three out of four now-all in two days.

I think you've got something."

The Ankru entries came to his screen; the red archosaur type Christmas had seen, then a burly-legged running bird, and a tufted cheetah-like affak with a build like a rope slung between two stumps, and finally a slimy-looking tub of a thing which apparently navigated on a broad keel, propelled by paddles.

"That's the herbivorous amphibian," Dana said. The herbi-amph opened one yawning end at the camera.

"High-gravity builds, I'd say," Christmas mused. "Call Lament and tell him to run a covert check on their grav compensators for starters. It could be they have found a way to screw up their handicap.

Oh-and while you're onto him, get that report on the compound life-swarm geehinkus from the Coalsack, will you? Detweiler's shop should never have put it in the social insect cla.s.ses; we've had two complaints of fouling-"

BOOM! BOO-O-O-O-M-M-M-M! ! ! !.

The resounding overhead thunder sent them both jumping for the balcony, to be greeted by a sight they had seen only on historitapes-a blazing rocket exhaust wavering down to land beyond the hotels.

Christmas stared. Behind him the innercom was yammering.

"-Unauthorized landing! Repeat, red alert, unidentified alien landing-" It was the voice of the Gal Q security satellite.

"PC! A rocket's coming down on my minirodent tracks!" screamed a soprano.

Christmas vaulted onto his sled. "Get a firescreen over those rats, Dana!" He took off, barely noticing that Dana had pushed something into his hand.

As he cleared the hotel domes, he saw the alien ship squatting in a volcano of smoke. The fireboys howled past, foam jets reaching for the intruder. The blaze was plastered down by the time Christmas skidded to a stop. Kurtis's blue prowler whined in behind him. The security chief was whispering orders into his collar. He raised one finger at Christmas without taking his eyes off the alien ship.

The foam around the ship was wriggling. Minirodents, ludicrously befoamed, were dashing in all directions, many without jockeys.

"Lily! Lily! Are you all right?" Christmas called, and saw his a.s.sistant steward rise up from under an overturned stand wiping gobs of foam off her face. The minirodents rushed to her, formed a solid pile around her feet and scrambled onto her shoulders and head.

The alien's port swung down to make a ramp. Three squat figures peered out through the fading smoke. Then a flamboyantly uniformed blond chimpanze strode onto the ramp, tossed his yellow mop out of his eyes, and gave out a ringing ululation ending in an interogative note.

"Voder's coming in a minute," Kurtis said. "Look at those side arms-what the holy galaxy are they, s.p.a.ce opera?"

The alien caterwauled again. Christmas, realizing he was the senior official there, stepped forward holding up his hand.

On the alien ramp, the stranger stared at him, tossed his head again, and then all three of them ducked back inside. Christmas waited; Gal Q and the Secretary would be there in a minute from the far side of Admin.There came a siren roar from inside the s.p.a.ceboat and the three emerged again, wheeling what looked like surrealistic airsleds bigger than themselves and decked with grilles, pipes and streamers. The leader yawped at Christmas, who held up his hand again.

Suddenly all three aliens jammed horned helmets on their heads, sprang onto their machines, and took off in a thundering circle around their ship, as they began doing aerobatics, Secretary Detweiler's sled came over the hotel. The aliens zoomed onto him looping and crowding with ear-splitting blasts from their machines.

Kurtis had already taken off in pursuit. Christmas got airborn just in time to see what looked like a laser beam coming from the aliens. Yes! In the name of madness, it was a laser. Detweiler's sled had sagged sideways, and Kurtis was throwing up his screens. Christmas put up his own, becoming vaguely aware that he had a minirodent on his head. He gained alt.i.tude and gave chase.

The aliens were now circling a cl.u.s.ter of M/T masts and firing at the rigging, but Kurtis was on top of them. Christmas saw him nail one with come-along spray and then miss another, who darted toward Christmas. The thing Dana had given him had turned out to be a hand stunner. Christmas picked off the alien at low power as he went by and saw him go into a long glide to the beach. Kurtis, followed docilely by the come-alonged alien, was turning tight circles on the last rider's tail, forcing him down away from his ship.

Christmas got the minirodent's tail out of his eye and started back to the alien boat. Ambulance crews were converging, as Detweiler's sled limped in.

Suddenly the last alien doubled and streaked for his ship at ground level, his laser beam looping wildly.

"Down! Everybody down!" Christmas bellowed, heading the melee. Just as the alien almost gained his ramp he slumped off his machine and fell into the foam. His sled crashed into the ship wall and fell beyond him.

Lily the track steward emerged from under the ramp, making cooing noises to the minirodents clinging to her. On her head, one of the rodent jockeys was bolstering a tiny handgun.

"Snedecor got him, PC! Snedecor got him!" Lily yelled, wading out.

Kurtis and the now zombie-like alien had landed. The voder crew came up.

"Snedecor got him!" Lily caroled.

"What in creation were they trying?" Christmas asked.

The security chief glowered reproachfully at his captive, now being hooked up to the voder.

"Well know shortly," he said. "Some bunch of flipping primitives who heard we had races, is my guess. Who's Snedecor?"

On Lily's head, Snedecor bowed and waved composediy.

"Good shooting.... What's that mouse doing with sidearms?"

"Old ruling-all beings less than nine centims high authorized to carry nonlethal defense," Christmas told him. "h.e.l.lo, Det. Glad you're okay. Well, I guess the rest of this is your job. Let me know the score, Lily, I've got to get back. Oh-here."

He disengaged the minirodent and handed it over. "Did anyone ever tell you you have an idyllic job?"

He zoomed for home, pausing to let another lizard race finish before he crossed the tracks.