seemed, at least of those capable of doing so, regarded themselves as superior to all other life forms. That seemed to be almost a necessary condition for qualifying for a rational life form. Brenner supposed it was healthy. He knew members of his own species, for example, who regarded their species as the superior life form in the universe, not that it was the strongest, or most successful, or most intelligent, or most prolific, or the most widespread, or the fiercest, or the most innocuous, or the kindest, or whatever, only that it was the best. Brenner himself, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, and his commitments to modernism and lifism, tended to share this belief. So, too, he suspected, did Rodriguez, who even went so far as to identify himself, alarmingly enough, as a species chauvinist. Brenner did think there was something interesting, or nice, at least, about his species. To be sure, as we have noted, it was held in an unusually low regard generally in the galaxy, and doubtless for several excellent reasons.
“There must be a bar somewhere around here,” said Rodriguez.
“Surely we must make contact!” said Brenner.
“Tomorrow morning will do,” said Rodriguez, stopping, puffing in the rain, wiping his face.
Too many Bertinian weeds, too much Velasian Heimat, thought Brenner. But, he, too, was tired. It was not easy slogging through the mud. More important, doubtless, was the fact that neither of them, as yet, had recovered their “surface legs,” so to speak. Both were still somewhat unsteady, despite the regime of shipboard exercises which Brenner, at least, had maintained. Indeed, this may help to explain why Brenner had occasionally lost his footing and slipped from the walking boards, those laid here and there across the mud. To be sure, several of the boards had not provided a secure footing, being slick with mud and water.
“Do you see a bar?” asked Rodriguez.
“Let’s find the hostel,” suggested Brenner, who was cold enough and miserable enough, to find Rodriguez’ suggestion about tomorrow morning less objectionable, and less an affront to scientific enthusiasm, than he might have otherwise. And Rodriguez, after all, was the senior colleague.
“That’s ahead,” said Rodriguez.
The rain, a few moments ago, had begun to fall more heavily again. Brenner squinted into the gloom. He then saw the sign, not lit this early in the day.
He started out immediately, gratefully, but in doing so, obstructed the passage, producing a collision with, a small figure, one of the few individuals Rodriguez and he had seen on the streets, once they had left the vicinity of the agent’s office. The small figure, clutching a cloak about itself, with a hood, cried out, angrily, and Brenner, slipping, stepped back, to apologize profusely. Briefly, within the folds of the wet hood, Brenner glimpsed a lovely, rounded face, almost exquisite, with an expression of anger, of petulance, with red lips and deep, dark eyes. And then the hood was pulled even more about the face, angrily, and she hurried on.
Brenner looked after her. He could see her bared, muddy calves within some circular garment, beneath the cloak. Beneath such a garment one might even, easily, put one’s hand.
“What is that she is wearing?” asked Brenner.
“It is called a ‘dress,’” said Rodriguez. As an anthropologist Brenner was familiar with this term, but he had never seen one on a person before, except, of course, in pictures, from distant worlds, and from the home world, going back to benighted times. Brenner shuddered. Such garments so debased and degraded a woman! Surely she would not, of her own will, have donned such a garment. Perhaps she was a whore, intent upon stimulating maleness. Such garments, on many worlds, were outlawed, because of dreaded moral and social consequences. But she did not seem to be a whore.
“That is what they give them to wear, outdoors,” said Rodriguez.
“‘Them’?” asked Brenner. “‘Give’?”
“Yes,” he said.
“She is barefoot,” said Brenner, looking after the small figure, disappearing now in the gloom, beyond the hostel entrance.
“It is easier to wash feet than clean boots,” said Rodriguez.
“I do not understand,” said Brenner.
“If it were colder, later in the year,” said Rodriguez, “she would have been given foot bindings, or boots, or something.”
“‘Given’?” asked Brenner.
“You do not think that women come of their own free will to Company Station, do you?” asked Rodriguez.
“Of course,” said Brenner.
“Oh, some do, I suppose,” said Rodriguez, “the mates of certain employees, or such.”
Brenner was alarmed, standing there in the mud, the rain. On the home world mating