"May hide-ticks devour the gougerforms!" Hoshick bellowed. "You've given me such a sprong-ache as I'll remember each spawning-time for a year."
"Speaking of hide-ticks," said Retief, "we've developed a biterform—"
"Enough!" Hoshick roared, so loudly that the translator bounced on his hide. "Suddenly I yearn for the crowded yellow sands of Jaq. I had hoped...." He broke off, drew a rasping breath. "I had hoped, Retief," he said, speaking sadly now, "to find a new land here where I might plan my own Mosaic, till these alien sands and bring forth such a crop of paradise-lichen as should glut the markets of a hundred worlds. But my spirit is not equal to the prospect of biterforms and gougerforms without end. I am shamed before you...."
"To tell you the truth, I'm old-fashioned myself. I'd rather watch the action from a distance too."
"But surely your spawn-fellows would never condone such an attitude."
"My spawn-fellows aren't here. And besides, didn't I mention it? No one who's really in the know would think of engaging in competition by mere combat if there were any other way. Now, you mentioned tilling the sand, raising lichens—things like that—"
"That on which we dined but now," said Hoshick, "and from which the wine is made."
"The big news in fashionable diplomacy today is farming competition. Now, if you'd like to take these deserts and raise lichen, we'll promise to stick to the oases and vegetables."
Hoshick curled his back in attention. "Retief, you're quite serious? You would leave all the fair sand hills to us?"
"The whole works, Hoshick. I'll take the oases."