It was here that the little toy-seller had
vanished. But it was exactly like a thousand, a hundred thousand other
such street-shrines on Wolf, a smudge of incense reeking and stinking
before the squatting image of Nebran, the Toad God whose face and symbol
are everywhere on Wolf. I stared for a moment at the ugly idol, then
slowly moved away.
The lighted curtains of the spaceport cafe attracted my attention and I
went inside. A few spaceport personnel in storm gear were drinking
coffee at the counter, a pair of furred _chaks_, lounging beneath the
mirrors at the far end, and a trio of Dry-towners, rangy, weathered men
in crimson and blue shirt cloaks, were standing at a wall shelf, eating
Terran food with aloof dignity.
In my business clothes I felt more conspicuous than the _chaks_. What
place had a civilian here, between the uniforms of the spacemen and the
colorful brilliance of the Dry-towners?
A snub-nosed girl with alabaster hair came to take my order. I asked for
_jaco_ and bunlets, and carried the food to a wall shelf near the
Dry-towners.
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