Then the older man had become a forbidding stranger. Stan had never been able to think of a reason for that. Maybe it was because of the decline in his academic work. Maybe he'd done something to offend. Maybe—
He shook the thoughts away, walked to a cell door, and stood waiting till the guard touched the release button.
As Stan tossed his books on his bunk, Jak Holme raised his head and looked across the cell.
"More of them books?"
"Yeah." Stan nodded. "Still trying to find out about this planet."
"You trying to be some kinda big politician when you get out?" Holme snorted.
"Tell you, be better you try mixing with the guys, 'stead of pushing 'em around with that fancy talk, making 'em jump now and then, see. You get along with 'em, you'll see. They'll tell you all you need. Be working with some of 'em, too, remember?"
"Oh, I don't try to push anybody around." Stan perched on his bunk. "Doesn't hurt anyone to study, though."
"Oh, sure." Holme grimaced. "Do you a lot of good, too. Guy's working on some production run, it helps a lot he knows why all them big guys in the history books did them things, huh?" He laughed derisively.