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from—but somehow he hadn’t quite summoned the necessary words before Lang was speaking again.
    “How do they organize Waystation—the Glaithes, I mean?” “Well, there are about half a million Glaithes here, on the staff. It’s practically a planetary industry with them, running it. They supervise luxury-goods trading between the rival empires, who otherwise would never get a chance to trade peaceably; they act as mediators in cases like that of Iquida, whose wife came out here with us; they help keep diplomatic relations below boiling point; they provide—and this isn’t the least of their services—they provide a holiday resort for people who want a trip into space. And they run a very fine hospital with techniques they found out either for themselves or from records here.”
    “They occupy the whole station?” Lang blinked.
    “Not exac tl y. They lease sections—under supervision—to us and the Pags, to do more or less what we like with. It annoys some people that they also insist on leasing sections to the subject races, who are in their view only subject by right of conquest, and won’t forever remain inferior peoples. But naturally, because their home planets and all the shipping lines are under other jurisdiction the Majkos, Lubarrians, and Alchmids don’t get much chance to enjoy their theoretical advantage. I suppose the Glaithes do it because only their occupation of Waystation has kept them from falling into the hands of one or other of the empires of the Arm.” Lang was staring across toward the elevators; Ferenc was just descending. A smile played around Lang’s mouth.
    “You know,” he said, “I rather like what I hear of these Glaithes . Well, thank you for your time. I hope we shall meet again during our stay.”
    “Of course. And anything you want to know about Waystation—get in touch with me,” Ligmer invited. “I can’t guarantee to answer your questions, but I’ll try.”
     
     
    V
    Raige was after something. At first, Vykor was merely glad that this time he was spending more time with her than usual, and did not have the detachment necessary to question why. But the calm discussion, the series of precise, probing inquiries, continued, while Raige’s gende fingers stroked code combinations into her recorder.
    He warned her about the risk of explosion if Ferenc came back into contact with the Pag officer during their stay at Waystation; he gave his impression—not a very deep one—of Dardaino, reported that the bringing of Mrs. Iquida to Waystation had satisfactorily irritated the Cathrodyne authorities. But he gradually came to realize that all this was unimportant.
    That much was routine, after all. Pag and Cathrodyne were liable to explode anyway, like a hammer and fulminate of mercury, or phosphorus and sandpaper. But Raige knew all that, and allowed for it. It was her life’s work.
    And if a new factor had entered, then it was due to something unprecedented. Eliminate everything else; that left a stranger. Lang.
    But he could tell her practically nothing about Lang, except that he was so self-possessed that his imperturbability was in some peculiar way infectious. And he didn’t tell Raige that directly; he hadn’t even realized that he had noticed the fact until she elicited it from him by persistent questioning. Then he recounted how Lang had drained some of the tension from the air of the observation saloon, when Ferenc and the Pag officer were insulting each other, and he saw what he had missed previously.
    He liked to watch Raige as they talked; he liked to see the ghost-reactions which his long acquaintance had taught him to recognize: satisfaction, puzzlement, annoyance—all
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    showing as mere reflections in the misty mirror of her fa c e. The subtlety of Glaithe manners appealed to him; his own people, the Majkos, might learn a lot from the Glaithes. After all, they had to conceal their own thoughts from their overlords the Cathrodynes. And for a reason