"Measure out two spoonsful of the dried leaves into a box--" he pointed
to a tiny plastic container.

With painstaking care Dane followed directions. At the same time a
servant of the Salarik chief swept the handful of gems from the other
stool and dropped them in a heap before Van Rycke, who transferred them
to a strong box resting between his feet. Paft arose--but he had hardly
quitted the trading seat before one of the lesser clan leaders had taken
his place, the bargaining cloth ready looped loosely about his wrist.

It was at that point that the proceedings were interrupted. A new party
came into the open, their utilitarian Trade tunics made a drab blot as
they threaded their way in a compact group through the throng of
Salariki. I-S men! So they had not lifted from Sargol.

They showed no signs of uneasiness--it was as if _their_ rights were
being infringed by the Free Traders. And Kallee, their Cargo-master,
swaggered straight to the bargaining point. The chatter of Salariki
voices was stilled, the Sargolians withdrew a little, letting one party
of Terrans face the other, sensing drama to come. Neither Van Rycke nor
Jellico spoke, it was left to Kallee to state his case.

"You've crooked your orbit this time, bright boys," his jeer was a paean
of triumph. "Code Three--Article six--or can't you absorb rules tapes
with your thick heads?"

Code Three--Article six, Dane searched his memory for that law of the
Service. The words flashed into his mind as the auto-learner had planted
them during his first year of training back in the Pool.