"My name," Andy said in Galactic, "is Andrew Stephens. I'm here from Planetary Promotions."
"I know," the Felician muttered ungraciously. "I came out from town to meet you. My name is Blahrog. Who's this?"
"My steno, Miss Featherpenny."
"Urk." Obviously Blahrog had never heard the term "steno" and was interpreting it freely. "I'm in charge of our admission to the Federation. That means I'm in charge of you." He eyed Andy unenthusiastically. "You haven't had much experience with this kind of thing, have you?"
Andy had a wild rush of hope. If the Felician government rejected him as a representative, he could go home without a failure on his record, and pray for a simpler assignment. Even P. P. didn't consider an agent responsible for the unpredictable whims of aliens.
"No, I haven't," he replied cheerfully. "I was hoping maybe you had."
Miss Featherpenny, who hadn't read the contract, gasped.
Blahrog, who had read the contract, replied, "I haven't. Let's get on into town where we can discuss the possibilities in comfort."
They set out, walking unequally through the thick white dust that passed for paving on Felix II.
"Don't you use ground cars?" Miss Featherpenny choked at the end of the first half-mile.