He stared at this fellow tsith hound, this shell of a Martian, and said, "What happened last night?"
"What always happens," Kueelo said wearily. "We used up all our credit. Penger kicked us out."
It took Joel Latham a full minute to absorb that piece of information. Mixed up with the agony in his eyes was a pensive look, but no resentment; his need just now was too dire for resentment. He stared across the swamp at the outpost's straggling street. Jake Penger was the law here, and he owned the only supply of tsith. Latham recalled him vaguely, a huge man, inscrutable, uncompromising.
"Penger," he muttered. "That's it. I knew there was something I was going to do."
"What were you going to do?" Kueelo moved in closer, a sudden light of interest in his eyes.
"See Penger, of course."
"Why?"
"I need tsith! And I'm going to need it worse before this day's over."
Kueelo's eyes went dull again. "We both do. How do you think you're going to manage it?"
"I'll show you. Never let it be said that Joel Latham was helpless in face of an emergency." With unsteady fingers he began a search of his clothes. And that's when the final realization descended upon Joel Latham. These weren't his clothes, not the ones he had when he came here.