"Just crude paper and tobacco grown in the soil," Angelo said
apologetically. "Untouched by any rays but the sun's, I'm afraid,
and our few medicine-men--we have all kinds of hobbies here of
course--just won't comment. Here ... and a light...."
The leader had almost finished his cigarette when the Master of Letters
arrived.
"Angelo, you churl, sir! Do you know how long I've been working on
that line? You know how difficult it is for me to get a decent trochee
when I'm--oh, company? Capital! 'Come fill the Cup, and in the Fire of
Spring--'"
"Please, Forsyth. These men are here on business. They want you to do
them a favor."
Resignedly, Forsyth kept quiet. And listened for good measure.
He listened for ten minutes. And then the leader was finished and
Forsyth said "A pox on't!"
"Please, Forsyth--"
"He's _right_!" came Tharn's voice. "I told you I didn't like it, and I
_don't_, and--"
"_He_ doesn't like it?" bellowed Forsyth. "Then by Heav'n, I'll _do_
it! Teach you, sire, to make charcoal caricatures of _me_ on a day when
I'm not lampooning _you_! Very well, but I don't think I've got too
many apprentices that aren't engaged right at the moment. Nonetheless,
if--"
The leader was beyond control. "_Apprentices_, did you say?" he croaked
hoarsely. "Why, you--"
"What in Dante did you think, man-child?" shot back Forsyth. "You
don't suppose I'd give you finished, creative _writers_ for the job
of a trained ape, do you? _Some_ apprentices I've got, and _some_
apprentices you'll get--and only because Dean Angelo here says so."
* * * * *
The three men from Earth strode with military precision back toward
their ship. The leader was in the center, and his subordinates, each
with bulging briefcases in both hands, were on either side. A large
group from the colony walked at a slower pace behind. Angelo, as usual,
was at their head, and flanking him were Tharn and Forsyth.
"Another whole _week_ wasted!" lamented Forsyth. "Not that the time
means anything, but those sensitive young boys and girls of mine will
never be the same! One of them, just this morning, told me she was
thinking of taking up _politics_ as a hobby! The tortures I go through
for you, Angelo--"
"I _still_ don't like it!" Tharn cut him off. "And I don't like them!
And, Forsyth, I saw what you had your precious little apprentices
doing! You had them writing _exactly_ the same tripe they wrote for
that _other_ crowd that landed two weeks ago!"
"Tharn, you certainly aren't the only one who has no use for that
barbaric breed. So--as long as they remain equally matched, they'll
eventually, uh--"
"_But that means_--"
"A Fundamental Law of Order, of course, my dear Tharn. _Balance_, as I
think I may already have pointed out...."
Forsyth quoted something from on obscure source about the importance
of artistic integrity, and then they watched together as the ship from
Earth blasted homeward.