yourselves."

With that he about-turned and marched off. As expected, the rest followed like sheep while Lashman and Fant gazed contemptuously at the new view.

The group trudged in dismal silence, full of moody thoughts and some ill temper. Presently they came abreast of the wall. A sod of earth arced over it and struck the physical culturist upon his curvature.

"Yow-ha!" sounded a yell of triumph. "Skeletons!"

"Right on target," remarked Gleed with appreciation.

Halting in his tracks, his face inflamed, the stricken one told all and sundry, "I am

about to commit murder."

"No you don't," commanded Gleed, grabbing his arm. "Baby-killing isn't in the contract. Keep going) back to the ship. Home sweet home."

"Home," growled Kinvig. "You slay me with your wit."

They paraded onward while shouts of victory and screams of abuse faded away behind. Soon they met the cart previously noticed. It was drawn by a real Earth-horse that rolled its eyes as if it too considered them as an extraordinary spectacle.

Though not as huge as Lashman and Fant, the driver was a powerful, heavily muscled specimen who treated the Terrans to a loud sniff, jiggled his reins and urged the horse from a plod to a slow trot. On top of the cart two teen age girls were sitting three-quarters buried in the load of hay.

Glancing upward as they passed, Trooper Yarrow stopped as if held by an invisible hand, said in tones of delighted reverence, "Look, fellows, real live dames!"

The girls pointed at Yarrow and giggled helplessly. One gasped a remark to the other and that set them off on another burst of merriment. With tears running down their faces, they clung together and boosted themselves to the verge of hysterics as the cart receded.

Yarrow angrily demanded of nobody in particular, "What's supposed to be funny?"

"Us," Gleed told him.

Leaving the road, they took their former route through the fields, arrived at the ship and mounted the gangway one by one. Each had the air of a pilgrim denied salvation for no known sin. In the airlock Tenth Engineer Harrison welcomed them with frank surprise.

"What, so soon?"

"Their frenzied welcome laid us out," Yarrow told him. "We've come back to recuperate."

"Why don't you go and get a taste of it yourself?" inquired Kinvig.

"I intend to. I'm on the third roster."

"What a picture you'll make," said Kinvig maliciously. "Nude on a bike."

He hurried after the others into the ship. Gleed went through the airlock last, looking sour.

"Something wrong?" prompted Harrison.

"Sure is. We stink with our clothes on and we still stink with them off. I'm going to see the Colonel about it."

So saying, he made for the chartroom, knocked, waited a moment and entered. Nobody was there. With a brief under-breath cuss he made his way to the control-room. That was empty too. Finally he traced his quarry to the officers' lounge, knocked again.

A voice responded, "Come in!"

Gleed marched in with military precision. Disregarding a dozen pairs of startled eyes, he halted before Shelton, stood stiffly with head erect and hands pressed grimly against thighs.

"Your pardon, Colonel. I beg to report that--"

Spilling the drink he was holding, Shelton barked, "What the very devil do you mean by appearing before me in that disgraceful condition? Completely naked! Good God! Have you gone out of your mind?"

"With all respect, Colonel, men on leave have been ordered."

"You are not on leave when in my presence," contradicted Shelton with visible ire. "You are on parade. If a sergeant does not know the regulations what can one expect of the men?"

"Yes, sir, but-"

"Don't you dare pose there without even a lioncloth and argue with me." Shelton spilled more of his drink. "Go and get dressed. I am repelled by the sight of your anatomy. If you wish to see me you must do so in the proper manner."

"Yes, sir," said Gleed, swallowing hard.

He snapped an accurate salute, about-turned and marched out. As he closed the door he heard Shelton say to the others, "Disgraceful! The space service is going to the dogs!"

Arriving at the N.C.O.'s dormitory, Gleed kicked off his boots, pulled on his shorts, sat on his bunk and glowered at the metal wall "What a life!" he complained. "What a ship! What a world!"

As the news traveled around the ship the men reacted in different ways. A belligerent minority was in favor of going to town, clothed and armed with rubber truncheons, and pounding a few Hygeian heads. The rest philosophically accepted the fact that Terrans were unwanted oddities and swiftly built up a habit of referring to each other as freaks.

This reached its climax when a trooper innocently replied to a question from Bidworthy by saying, "Freak Moran has just gone to the washroom."

"Eh? Who?"

"I mean Trooper Moran-Freak Major."

By early afternoon men off duty had found a temporary compromise by leaving the ship but not approaching the town. Some went for walks in the opposite direction, towards the distant forest. A few played handball. The majority were content to repose full length on the soft, cushiony sward, absorbing sunshine and fresh air and idly speculating about what their leaders might do to bring the natives to their senses. Most were of the opinion that no effective action would be or could be taken.

"Space," remarked Trooper Yarrow profoundly, flat on his back and chewing a straw, "is a place where anything can happen-even nothing."

"You said it, freak," supported Kinvig. "Notice how the top brass has carefully refrained from setting an example for low-lifes like us? Does Shelton try to get into town in his skin? Does His Freakiness the Ambassador? They do not! They sit on their butts in the officers' lounge guzzling their drinks and waiting for time to roll past."

"They're afraid to be seen in the raw," opined Trooper Jacobi. "Ninety-nine percent of their authority is located in their uniforms, badges and insignia. I reckon there's a lot to be said in favor of universal nudity. Strip a fellow of his clothes and what have you got? Just another dumb bum."

"Yes, sir," approved Yarrow. "We were born naked. It wouldn't kill us to stay that way."

"It'd save lots of time, trouble and expense," Kinvig contributed.

"I'd give plenty to see Bidworthy trying to throw his weight around in nothing but boots," offered Jacobi dreamily.

"I'd give more to watch the Ambassador acting high and mighty a yard behind his own pot belly," Yarrow responded. "I reckon he'd bear close resemblance to a sow in litter."

Trooper Veitch, lying nearby, rolled over, yawned widely and said, "Do I hear subversive propaganda?"

"Quiet, freak," ordered Yarrow.

Gleed appeared, still in shorts and boots, looked down at them. "Been watching the area through powerful glasses for over an hour. It looks as if these Hygeians have no automobiles, no planes, maybe because they've no oil resources either.

They have steam locomotives and horses. All their transport seems to be based on locos and horses." He meditated as if he had something special in mind, asked, "Any of you fellows know how to handle a horse?"

"I do," said Veitch, sitting up.

"Good!" approved Gleed. "Sergeant Schneed is a real old nag. Go and report to him for kitchen duty."

Veitch clambered to his feet and displayed much bitterness. "After I get my release I'm going to buy myself a hatchet. Then I'm going to travel around in search of certain people."

"Do I hear subversive propaganda?" inquired Yarrow.

Giving him an ugly look, Veitch ambled toward the gangway. Gleed lay down in his vacated place, gazed at the blue sky and let go a long-drawn sigh of pleasure.

"I'm surprised at Veitch. Seven years' service and still a sucker." The others didn't answer, so he prompted, "Enjoying yourselves, fellows?"

Jacobi said unwarily, "I can think of better things to do."

"How right you are," approved Gleed. "You chase after Veitch and report for kitchen duty."

Very ungraciously, Jacobi departed. Yarrow and Kinvig then decided it might be more comfortable a couple of hundred yards away. They moved before further conversation could bring forth the fact that the kitchen could make good use of them also.

Grinning to himself, Gleed reposed full length and surveyed the sky until his eyes grew heavy. Presently he closed them and drifted into sleep. He had been snoring steadily for an hour when Yarrow nudged him wide awake.

"Sarge, that deputation is coming through the grain again."

Getting up, Gleed had a look, recognized the Mayor and his councillors. He hurried into the airlock, used the phone. Grayder answered.

"Captain, that official party is returning."

"Bring them to the chartroom as before, Sergeant."

"Right, sir."

With his whiskers flapping in the slight breeze, the Mayor mounted the gangway. He was still clinging to his civic totem-pole. The councilors followed except for Gerpongo who remained on the grass, hugged the bag containing his spray-gun and looked at the lolling troops as if he considered them long overdue for treatment.

Gleed led his party to the chartroom door, opened it for them but was careful to keep out of sight himself. For the time being, he felt, it would be wise to avoid the irate Shelton's gaze. What the eye does not see the brasshat mind cannot bellow over.

The Mayor and his councillors filed in, grouped themselves as before. Stroking his beard and raising his totem-pole, the Mayor addressed His Excellency.

"Health be yours."

"Thank you," said the Ambassador, thinking this health business could be taken a bit too far.

"We have consulted our government and after due consideration they have decided to agree with your suggestions," enunciated the Mayor.

"Ah!" exclaimed the Ambassador delightedly.

"Upon certain conditions."

The delight vanished as swiftly as it had come. "What conditions?"

Producing a map from his shoulder-bag, the Mayor unfolded it, put it on Grayder's desk and planted a wrinkled finger upon it. "You will see that at this point, which is not far north of here, the great river Sambar splits and flows on either side of an island. It is a very nice island, verdant and healthy. It covers almost a thousand acres and is ideal for an isolation camp."

"Isolation?" echoed the Ambassador, frowning.

"You can take over that island on the understanding that your men remain there for a quarantine period of one year."

"Quarantine?"

"They may not leave the island and mix among our people before this one year is through. And then they must submit to medical examination and disinfection by us. Any men not considered healthy enough to let loose must stay on the island until such time as we find them physically fit in all respects. With regard to these matters our decisions shall be accepted as final."

"Is that all?" asked the Ambassador.

"Indeed, no. It is understood that you will place upon this island your consul, his staff and bodyguard, also two long-range transmitters with their appropriate technicians. Having done so, you will not at later date increase their numbers without first obtaining our consent."

"Anything more?"

"Yaz," said the Mayor, wetting his lips. "If after one year a number of Terrans are permitted to travel where they please they will not disgust the populace by wearing clothes. We cannot allow the minds of our children to be perverted by such filthy exhibitionism. Terrans must justify their freedom by behaving with common decency, as we do. That is not too much to ask."

"I suppose not," admitted the Ambassador, slightly whirly.

"Lastly," finished the Mayor, "if in due time romantic associations should arise and it should be considered expedient to solemnize marriages between these Terrans and our people, such marriages will be recognized by you as legal and valid. By that is meant that the bridegroom will be entitled to permanent residence upon Hygeia. You will not have the right to compel him to desert his wife and family by transferring him to another world."

Shelton interrupted with, "There's a nice way for a malcontent to opt out of the space service whenever he feels like it."

"He could scoot in any case," the Ambassador pointed out. "All he need do is throw his clothes in the river and join the naked herd."

"Not legally," said Shelton.

"If half the consular bodyguard takes to the woods what does it matter whether their action is legal or illegal," asked the Ambassador. "They've vanished just the same."

"We don't have to encourage it by providing a legal loophole," Shelton protested.

Before the Ambassador could frame a suitable reply the Mayor spoke severely. "You are taking a lot for granted- and without any visible justification."

"What d'you mean?" asked Shelton.

"You appear to be under the delusion that all your men are irresistible charmers and that our women will consider it a great privilege to marry them."