Free New Celebrations: The Adventures of Anthony Villiers by Alexei Panshin

him. He took his place in line and set his bag down. As he did, Torve the Trog, having left his place by the line, came up.
    “Is all right now, “ he said.
    “Is it?” said Srb. “Very good, my friend. Shall we meet for dinner as we planned?”
    The man just ahead of him in line turned at the sound of his voice. “Oh, Padre,” he said, “I hadn’t realized you were there. Please go ahead of me.”
    “Why, thank you, son. Bless you.”
    “I will see you later for dinner,” Torve said, and left the waiting room. Before Srb reached the head of the line, the man who had been pointed out to him by young Adams also left in company with Mrs. Bogue and her five young female charges.
    * * *
    Now, Villiers was there to meet Torve the Trog. When Torve stepped to the side, Villiers crossed the invisible line that kept those in the waiting room separated from the arriving passengers. He took no notice of the other arrivals but went directly up to Torve.
    “Same old thing?” he asked, although that was not the primary question in his mind.
    “Is as usual,” Torve said.
    “The day we find some proper papers to copy, things will be much simpler.”
    “Oh, I do not mind.”
    “What are the conditions?”
    “Wait here one minute.”
    “Hmm. That’s not so bad. Now the important thing. The remittance was not on Luvashe. Did you find it on Morian?”
    “No,” said Torve the Trog.
    “God help us. I’ve halved my bills here, but I spent my last royal yesterday. I’m down to pocket change.”
    “I found news,” Torve said. “Remittance was on Morian but we had left, so was urgented forward to Yuten.”
    “Well, that’s some relief. No doubt they’ll be surprised to see us turn up again so soon. In any case, this will take some thinking about.”
    “Minute is up.”
    “Good.” Villiers told Torve how to reach their quarters and how the door might be convinced to let him enter. “I’ll meet you there in a few minutes. I see someone I think I know.”
    “I have composition to think on. I will meditate until you arrive,” said Torve. “Thurb.”
    Villiers approached the covey of females, and Torve, his minute of waiting at an end, turned and walked away. Phibbs said nothing. He took no notice of the departure. When the line had passed him and he was closing up his counter, he may have had the feeling that he had mislaid something, but if he did, he didn’t mention it.

5
    M AN ONCE THOUGHT FIRE TO BE THE WRATH OF THE GODS unleashed. Man learned to unleash a little wrath, too. Man once thought that flying was a sport reserved for the pleasure of birds, bats, and horses, but man learned how to share their pleasure. A thousand things, dimly understood, feared, thought beyond control, have been added when their time has come around to the grab-bag list of the possible. Still, some few things elude understanding, and of these one of the chiefest is the kid business.
    For a time, control was thought to be within reach. Parents could order their children to specification as they might order a home, clothing, or any items of style. Happiness? Not by a damn sight. Ignorant parents found themselves saddled with children far more intelligent than themselves. Society found itself with a preponderance of females or males as the winds of fashion blew. And there simply is no way to turn a child in on a new model when the old one is found to be not quite as advertised or when one’s tastes change.
    Over five or six hundred years, all sorts of experiments were undertaken, but somehow in these modern times most babies continue to be born by the traditional method—catch-as-catch-can. The experiments never fulfilled expectations. No parent who can afford it will willingly settle for a malformed or idiot child, but neither will he order a child from a checklist.
    But ordinary kids are unsatisfactory, too. One might wish that every parent could have a child who was consistently agreeable, never disputed authority, never