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guarded family secret.”
    Agent Shant said: “My own preference is Pooncho Number Three. It is bracing and flavorful, yet never sits heavy on the tongue.”
    Wingo looked at Schwatzendale. “Shall we attempt this storied tipple?”
    “The opportunity should not be wasted!” declared Schwatzendale without hesitation.
    “My feelings exactly,” said Wingo. He signalled to Balrob. “Two orders of the Number Three Pooncho, if you please.”
    “With pleasure, sir.”
    “… Well, then? What is your verdict?”
    Wingo coughed and cleared his throat. “This is a drink of several dimensions. It should not be judged in haste.”
    Schwatzendale said: “I find the drink stimulating, well-balanced, and rife with a distinctive panache.”
    Wingo sipped again from the mug. “Most refreshing! Might there be a Number Four Pooncho?”
    Agent Shant pulled soberly at his beard. “I have no personal experience with the drink. However, I understand that it is sometimes known as the ‘Pingis Rejuvenator’, and is occasionally administered to the dead or unconscious.”
    “Indeed!” marvelled Wingo. “To what effect?”
    “I have not witnessed the cure myself. Still, I have had a broad experience of life and I have seen some startling events, so that I no longer make absolute assertions.”
    “You would seem a man to be trusted,” said Schwatzendale. “I would value your advice on another topic altogether.”
    “Speak! I shall answer to my best ability.”
    “We are new arrivals upon this remarkable world. How best can we entertain ourselves, at modest expense, and within the limits of the law?”
    “Hm.” Agent Shant again pulled at his beard. “That is like asking how to dive into the water without getting wet. But let me reflect. If you are keen botanists, you will enjoy examining the flowers in the public parks, or you may go on nature walks about the countryside. At slightly larger expense, you may hire a way-car, which affords you more latitude, or you might simply trundle off across the wilderness. Again, you might rent a houseboat and cruise our incomparable waterways. We discourage the use of flitters or aircraft of any sort, since they often intrude upon the privacy of the back-country Flauts.” The Land Agent squared his shoulders, drained his goblet and glanced around the room. “I must be off about my business.”
    Schwatzendale, never diffident, asked: “With full respect, I wonder what might be your business.”
    The Land Agent turned Schwatzendale a brief, rather severe look. “I am a member of the Land committee. I supervise thirty Land Agents and as many sub-Agents, often known as the ‘Land Rovers’, all of whom seek illicit rubbish and bring the culprits to justice. It is a taxing job, and not without danger.”
    Wingo asked innocently: “Do you yourself search out litter?”
    Agent Shant stood erect with shoulders thrown back. “I never shrink from my duty, at all times and in all places! I must set an example for my men!” Agent Shant glanced idly down at the floor, then frowned and stared more fixedly. Wingo, sensing a change in the Agent’s demeanor, followed his gaze to the floor, where, to his alarm, he found that one of the dead flowers he had picked up from the road had fallen from his pocket and now lay blatantly in full view. Wingo hastily reached down and retrieved the illicit object. The Land Agent gave a grim shrug, then turned away and departed.
    Wingo and Schwatzendale discussed the episode in low tones for a moment, then decided to attempt another Number Three Pooncho Punch. They gave the order and were served.
    4
    Aboard the Glicca , Myron saw to the discharge of cargo, then retired to his office to deal with paperwork. After a time Captain Maloof appeared in the doorway. Myron looked up. “Something, sir?”
    Maloof waved his hand. “Nothing of consequence. Proceed with your work.”
    “I am almost finished. It won’t be more than a minute.”
    Maloof came into the office