"That's what I mean—they're crazy!"
"They did it that way in England for centuries," I said. "It took a long time to get them to change."
"Fine, fine." Suddenly he laughed, as if pleased with his capacity for tolerance. "If it's good enough for them it's good enough for us visitors. They sure know how to build beautiful roads!"
I suppose I should have been pleased with this shift toward good humor but I wasn't. I just could not like the youngster. He had been forgivably cocky for his age before, but now something nasty had been added.
Still, he remained on his best behavior as we approached Crona, the capital city. Its golden towers gleamed in the sun and everywhere there were crowds of beautiful tan people, waving to us and happily scowling their welcome.
The lead cars stopped before a particularly elegant skyscraper that was set in the middle of vast, symmetrical gardens. We got out and were greeted by dignitaries accompanied by technicians with Semanticizing equipment. (If this equipment worked slowly, it was still faster than any we'd developed.) The men who came toward us were puzzled when we extended our hands but, once the translation came through and they understood it was an Earth custom, they copied our gesture. Only they all put out their left hands. It took a while before reasonable contact could be made.
"Interesting," said Dr. Barnes. "They all seem to be left-handed."
"I don't see what's so interesting about that," Hacker snorted through his puggish nose. "I've seen left-handed people on Earth."
"Good for you," the doctor answered drily.
Hacker looked a little annoyed but for once managed to keep quiet.