"Sorry." I was getting uncomfortable, crouched behind him and peering over his shoulder, so that when he turned to look at me his jaw-whiskers almost grazed my nose. I didn't want to change position.

"So look up here in the yellow." He pointed to five brighter lines in the yellow band. "These relate to the profitibility of the mission. God knows what we're measuring -- or what the Heechee were measuring -- but in terms of financial rewards to the crews, there's a pretty good correlation between the number of lines in that frequency and the amount of money the crews get."

"Wow!"

He went on as though I hadn't said anything. "Now, naturally the Heechee didn't set up a meter to calibrate how much in royalties you or I might make. It has to be measuring something else, who knows what? Maybe it's a measure of population density in that area, or of technological development. Maybe it's a Guide Michelin, and all they're saying is that there was a four-star restaurant in that area. But there it is. Five-bar-yellow expeditions bring in a financial return, on the average, that's fifty times as high as two-bar and ten times as high as most of the others."

He turned around again so that his face was maybe a dozen centimeters from mine, his eyes staring right into my eyes. "You want to see some other settings?" he asked, in a tone of voice that demanded I say no, so I did. "Okay." And then he stopped.

I stood up and backed away to get a little more space. "One question, Dane. You probably have a reason for telling me all this before it gets to be public information. What is it?"

"Right," he said. "I want what's-her-name for crew if I go in a Three or a Five."

"Klara Moynlin."

"Whatever. She handles herself well, doesn't take up much room, knows -- well, she knows how to get along with people better than I do. I sometimes have difficulty in interpersonal relationships," he explained. "Of course, that's only if I take a Three or a Five. I don't particularly want to. If I can find a One, that's what I'm going to take out. But if there isn't a One with a good setting available, I want somebody along I can rely on, who won't get in my hair, who knows the ropes, can handle a ship -- all that. You can come, too, if you want."

When I got back to my own room Shicky turned up almost before I started to unpack. He was glad to see me. "I am sorry your trip was unfruitful," he said out of his endless stock of gentleness and warmth. "It is too bad about your friend Kahane." He had brought me a flask of tea, and then perched on the chest across from my hammock, just like the first time.