"But he undoubtedly has Galactic blood," said Kunklin cheerfully, "else how do you explain his escape from the satellite?"
"True," said Prule seriously, "but that is not particularly extraordinary. He has Galactic blood. So do hundreds of humanoid peoples on hundreds of worlds. As long as we allow tourists to visit any world they choose, whether it's aware of us or not, we will continue to find people with traces of Galactic blood. This is a failing of human nature which I expressly—"
But Kunklin was grinning widely.
"You mean his father?—"
"Or mother," Prule said dourly. "Either party might well have been at fault. It is not difficult to conjecture. A tourist drops in on this planet, notes the—ah—male or female, as the case may be—to have a certain measure of attraction, and the normal processes ensue. Most likely, of course the tourist was his father. A Galactic mother would have done—ah—whatever it is that—ah—well of course."
Prule, who was something of a moralist, became somewhat flustered. Kunklin, who was young and handsome and no moralist at all, grinned lecherously.
"Well, by Cosmos! This is really cute. I'll bet he doesn't even know!"
"In all probability. Since the laws decree silence, it is not likely that even his mother knew."
Kunklin looked back at the halftrack, chortling.
"Well, really, we have to look after him. Blood brother, I think the phrase goes."