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just about up to it" He put his chin on his hand and stared hard at the board. "He won't find Kepler III any chess game, I think."
    "How's that?"
    "Just that I've been doing a bit of homework," Maseba said. "Did you know that the population of Kepler is approximately seventy-five percent Japanese?"
    Lindstrom frowned. "So?"
    "Just a hunch, but there seems to be a tendency on colonial planets for racial and cultural characteristics to become more pronounced, a kind of defense mechanism, a clinging to the known patterns."
    u Fm still not quite with you," admitted Lindstrom.
    "No? Well, just take a look in the historical section of the library next time you've an hour or two to spare. You might start with the landing of Commodore Perry in Japan, back in the nineteenth century."
    "Over three hundred years ago... but surely..."
    "I'm only speculating on the lines of a general tendency," Maseba said. "But look at it this way. Kepler ID has been pretty well isolated, with a majority population of Japanese for almost a hundred years, and it seems reasonable to suppose that during the time the 'Japaneseness' of the colony's culture will have become more and more pronounced."
    "All right, supposing that is the case, surely it can't be a bad thing," said Lindstrom. "After all, the Japanese are a very civilized race."
    "Yes, indeed, to the extent of looking upon Westerners as barbarians; an outlook with which I, as an African, must have some sympathy," Maseba replied.
    "Then how will this make Magnus' task more difficult?"
    "Because our friend Magnus, as we both know, is a man completely devoted to Western pragmatism, an apostle of the God of Logic," said Maseba. "The Japanese, on the other hand, despise logjc and logical thinking; they prefer to rely on the intuitions of what has been called the 'Kimono Mind.'"
    Lindstrom smiled. "You're exaggerating, George— you must be."
    Maseba shrugged. "Maybe ... we shall see. Now— do we play chess?"

    She slipped in from the dimly lit corridor and thrust herself into his arms, kissing and receiving kisses, change and exchange until they were both slightly - breathless.
    At last, pulling her face away from his, she looked up at him, smiling. "Piet, love, you look cleaner than when I last saw you."
    "Last? Oh, the butcher's shop. Yes." He ran a hand down the front of her zipsuit. He needed the comfort of her body much more than any talk.
    She stayed his hand with gentle firmness, and stepped back from him.
    "What . . . ?" He stared his bewilderment, painfully aware of his throbbing need, as she unrolled the left sleeve of her suit, right up to and past the elbow joint.
    "First—this," she said, placing a finger on the slight bulge beneath the skin that indicated the presence of the contracapsule.
    "Now?"
    "But of course, now," she said calmly. "You have your instruments?"
    "Well, yes . . ." he replied awkwardly. Desire drained out of him like air out of a pricked balloon.
    "Piet, you're not having doubts at this stage, are you?" she regarded him with a sudden keenness.
    He wanted to turn away, but her eyes held him. He felt as though a scalpel were being screwed into his stomach.
    "Piet, love, what is it? Piet!" She moved towards him.
    He looked down at her, doubt and anguish grinding in his mind, even as they had when, as a boy of eleven, he had listened in trembling alarm to the acidulous, refined arguments that took place between his mother and father when they thought he was asleep. He said: "Nobody has ever done this before, you know."
    "But it has to go, Piet. You must see that. How do we get our baby, unless you remove it?"
    He felt anger rise within him, and he strove to contain it. The whole thing seemed to be so easy for her, but for him it was just not that simple. "Look, this is ... it's against all regulations, you understand?"
    But she didn't She looked at him wonderingly. "We've been over all that We're checking out at Kepler III, aren't we? I thought it was all settled."
    "Now