Astounding British Edition, Vol. 9, No. 10 — page 50: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

SX LIND Od OLAS he ad Wk aE oth Ad Ht REY TNE LG i wie Cig Bate rifida Wea hou 0 / hig ae ; ; 4 i} A ; ‘4 a, “ry a ah v. Ah ea Ma ey ‘ » Fel OU. ot ot? « Se o, = ry Ww rear ALS yeh oA hate ; ae Se re Oa Ce Ses By ALGIS BUDRYS HERE are certain stretches of southern New Jersey which, after the suction hoses and mucktreads of the cranberry picker have passed on, are rarely visited for the remainder of the year. It was into one of these bogs that Taj lowered his advanship, and it was at the brushy edge of a narrow path travers- ing such a bog that he encountered his first Earthman. He had just scrambled up the bank with his collection pack and analyzer, and had started to part the bushes, when he heard a ping!, and a gentle voice said “Warning.” Taj spun back into the bog, hanging on to his equipment somehow, but going to his knees in the mud. Even while he was cursing his lack of foresight in not having kept his sidearm ready, the voice con- tinued to speak. “Warning. You are within the personal protection field of another individual. Kindly make yourself known to him.” There was a rustling in the bushes, and Taj looked up to see an Earthman star- ing down at him. “Tm damned,” the Earthman said, scratching his thigh. “T’m damned,” Taj replied, suiting his form of address to the other’s. “Uh-uh, pal, you got that wrong. The usual form of greeting is ‘Lo,’” the man answered. He scratched his thigh again. “You're not from Earth.” “No, I’m not,” Taj said, inspecting the man, who was dressed in a set of extremely light coveralls, and wore a gracefully designed helmet. “Hiking,” the Earthman said. “Wouldn’t be caught dead in more than my hat, ordinarily, but these mosquitoes aren’t worth the trouble of maintaining a full strength field. Now come out of there. You look like you’re praying to a cran- berry bush.” Taj floundered out of the mud and climbed up the bank to the Earthman’s side. “I am called Taj,” he said, bring- ing his arm up from the elbow, palm - outwards. The man shook his head. 48 MUL TIEARIOUS “Name’s Potter, Styles Potter,” he said, extending his hand, the heel and little - finger down, his fingers slightly curved, his thumb up. “That’s how you say it, and this is what you do with your hand. Now take my hand firmly in yours.” “Name’s Taj,” Taj said, shaking Potter’s hand. “Right?” “Got a last name?” “No.” “Right, then. How do you people tell one Taj from another?” “We're all Taj. Aren’t you all Styles Potter?” Potter’s lips pursed, and one of his eyebrows moved a bit. He hesitated be- fore he answered. “No . .. not exactly, that is. We’re all Styles, but we have different last names indicating our duties. Mine denotes a specialized ceramicist.” Taj considered this. “I’ve heard of that system. We ran across it on one or two worlds where different classes still inter- mingle. Our own cadres of specialists are kept isolated, and one’s as good at his field as another, so there’s no point to it for us.” “I can see that.” The Earthman’s glance flickered over the bog. “Don’t see your ship, though. Got it hidden?” “That’s right. SOP for contact work. Not much point to that now. Care to see it? ” “Sure do. Never seen a spaceship.” “Come on, then.” Taj started back into the bog. “Wait a minute while I turn this field up a little, will you? No sense getting any muddier,” Potter said. He reached up and touched the side of his helmet. “O.K. Stick close to me. This dingus broadcasts a yielding sphere that'll flatten out enough to walk on, even on mud, as long as I deep the intensity relatively low.” “Sounds handy,” Taj said. “It is. You can turn it up for rain, too. Wind, anything. Even mosquitoes, but that way, of course, you cut out any breeze that might come along, and any CORMicooolxs (Cc)