Part 2

Michael gazed at the Empire State Building with interest. It was in a remarkable state of preservation and looked just like the pictures in his history--in his books, except that none of them showed the huge golden sign "Public-Washport" riding on its spire.

Attendants directed traffic from a large circular desk in the lobby. "Mercurians, seventy-eighth floor. _A_ group Vegans, fourteenth floor right. _B_ group, fourteenth floor left. _C_ group, fifteenth floor right. _D_ group, fifteenth floor left. Sirians, forty-ninth floor. Female humans fiftieth floor right, males, fiftieth floor left. Uranians, basement...."

Carpenter and Michael shared an elevator with a group of sad-eyed, translucent Sirians, who were singing as usual and accompanying themselves on _wemps_, a cross between a harp and a flute. "Foreign planets are strange and we're subject to mange. Foreign atmospheres prove deleterious. Only with our mind's eye can we sail through the sky to the bright purple swamps of our Sirius."

The cost of the compartment was half that of the feeding station; one credit in the slot unlocked the door. There was an advideo here, too:

"Friend, do you clean yourself each day? Now, let's not be evasive, for each one has his favored way. Some use an abrasive and some use oil. Some shed their skins, in a brand-new hide emerging. Some rub with grease put up in tins. For others there's deterging. Some lick themselves to take off grime. Some beat it off with rope. Some cook it away in boiling lime. Old-fashioned ones use soap. More ways there are than I recall, and each of these will differ, but the only one that works for all is Omniclene from Kiffa."

* * * * *

"And now," smiled Carpenter as the two humans left the building, "we must see you registered for a nice family. Nothing too ostentatious, but, on the other hand, you mustn't count credits and ally yourself beneath your station."

Michael gazed pensively at two slender, snakelike Difdans writhing "Only 99 Shopping Days Till Christmas" across an aquamarine sky.

"They won't be permanent?" he asked. "The family, I mean?"

"Certainly not. You merely hire them for whatever length of time you choose. But why are you so anxious?"

The young man blushed. "Well, I'm thinking of having a family of my own some day. Pretty soon, as a matter of fact."

Carpenter beamed. "That's nice; you're being adopted! I do hope it's an Earth family that's chosen you--it's so awkward being adopted by extraterrestrials."

"Oh, no! I'm planning to have my own. That is, I've got a--a girl, you see, and I thought after I had secured employment of some kind in Portyork, I'd send for her and we'd get married and...."

"_Married!_" Carpenter was now completely shocked. "You _mustn't_ use that word! Don't you know marriage was outlawed years ago? Exclusive possession of a member of the opposite sex is slavery on Talitha. Furthermore, supposing somebody else saw your--er--friend and wanted her also; you wouldn't wish him to endure the frustration of not having her, would you?"

Michael squared his jaw. "You bet I would."

Carpenter drew himself away slightly, as if to avoid contamination. "This is un-Universal. Young man, if I didn't have a kind heart, I would report you."

Michael was too preoccupied to be disturbed by this threat. "You mean if I bring my girl here, I'd have to share her?"

"Certainly. And she'd have to share you. If somebody wanted you, that is."

"Then I'm not staying here," Michael declared firmly, ashamed to admit even to himself how much relief his decision was bringing him. "I don't think I like it, anyhow. I'm going back to the Brotherhood."

There was a short cold silence.

"You know, son," Carpenter finally said, "I think you might be right. I don't want to hurt your feelings--you _promise_ I won't hurt your feelings?" he asked anxiously, afraid, Michael realized, that he might call a policeman for ego injury.

"You won't hurt my feelings, Mr. Carpenter."

"Well, I believe that there are certain individuals who just cannot adapt themselves to civilized behavior patterns. It's much better for them to belong to a Brotherhood such as yours than to be placed in one of the government incarceratoriums, comfortable and commodious though they are."

"Much better," Michael agreed.

"By the way," Carpenter went on, "I realize this is just vulgar curiosity on my part and you have a right to refuse an answer without fear of hurting my feelings, but how do you happen to have a--er--girl when you belong to a Brotherhood?"

Michael laughed. "Oh, 'Brotherhood' is merely a generic term. Both sexes are represented in our society."

"On Talitha--" Carpenter began.

"I know," Michael interrupted him, like the crude primitive he was and always would be. "But our females don't mind being generic."

* * * * *

A group of Sirians was traveling on the shelf above him on the slow, very slow jet bus that was flying Michael back to Angeles, back to the Lodge, back to the Brotherhood, back to her. Their melancholy howling was getting on his nerves, but in a little while, he told himself, it would be all over. He would be back home, safe with his own kind.

"When our minds have grown tired, when our lives have expired, when our sorrows no longer can weary us, let our ashes return, neatly packed in an urn, to the bright purple swamps of our Sirius."

The advideo crackled: "The gown her fairy godmother once gave to Cinderella was created by the haute couture of fashion-wise Capella."

The ancient taxi was there, the one that Michael had taken from the Lodge, early that morning, to the little Angeleno landing field, as if it had been waiting for his return.

"I see you're back, son," the driver said without surprise. He set the noisy old rockets blasting. "I been to Portyork once. It's not a bad place to live in, but I hate to visit it."

"I'm back!" Michael sank into the motheaten sable cushions and gazed with pleasure at the familiar landmarks half seen in the darkness. "I'm back! And a loud sneer to civilization!"

"Better be careful, son," the driver warned. "I know this is a rural area, but civilization is spreading. There are secret police all over. How do you know I ain't a government spy? I could pull you in for insulting civilization."

The elderly black and white advideo flickered, broke into purring sound: "Do you find life continues to daze you? Do you find for a quick death you hanker? Why not try the new style euthanasia, performed by skilled workmen from Ancha?"

Not any more, Michael thought contentedly. He was going home.