As always, Fishface went straight into the laboratory, leaving Maxim in the reception room. Maxim, as usual, greeted the natives posted by the door and, as usual, received no response. The door to the laboratory was slightly ajar and he could hear Hippo’s loud, irritated voice and the clicking of the mentoscope. Maxim went to the window, gazed briefly at the wet landscape, the wooded plain, and the superhighway, at the tall metal tower scarcely visible in the fog, and quickly became bored. He decided to enter the laboratory without waiting to be called.
It was filled, as usual, with the pleasant smell of ozone. Double screens flickered. The bald, overworked assistant with an impossible name, whom Maxim had nicknamed Floorlamp, pretended he was tuning the equipment as he listened to the argument going on in the laboratory.
In Hippo’s chair, behind Hippo’s desk, sat a stranger with a square, peeling face and swollen, bloodshot eyes. Hippo stood in front of him, shrieking, legs thrust apart, hands against his sides, and leaning over slightly. His neck veins bulged, his bald spot had turned a fiery sunset-purple, and spray flew in all directions from his mouth.
Trying not to attract attention, Maxim passed to his work station quietly and greeted the assistant in a low voice. Floorlamp, his nerves worn to a frazzle, recoiled in terror and slipped on at hick cable. Maxim barely managed to grab him by the shoulders. Floorlamp went limp. What a strange man. He was deathly afraid of Maxim. Fishface appeared out of nowhere with a small uncorked bottle that she stuck under Floorlamp’s nose. Floorlamp hiccupped and revived. Before he could slip into unconsciousness again, Maxim leaned him against a steel cabinet and with-drew quickly.
After he sat down in the testing chair he noticed that the stranger had stopped listening to Hippo and was observing him intently. Maxim smiled warmly. The stranger tipped his head slightly. At that instant. Hippo banged his fist on the table and grabbed the telephone. Taking advantage of the pause, the stranger uttered a few words, but Maxim could distinguish only “must” and “must not.” Then the stranger picked up a sheet of thick bluish paper with a bright green border and waved it in front of Hippo’s face. Annoyed, Hippo brushed it aside and immediately began to bark into the phone. The words “must,” “must not,” and the puzzling “massaraksh” came from his lips repeatedly, and Maxim even caught the word “window.” It ended with Hippo slamming down the receiver angrily, bellowing at the stranger, and after raining curses on him, marching out and slamming the door.
Then the stranger rose from his seat, opened a long flat box ly-ing on the window ledge, and took out a dark garment.
“Come here,” he said to Maxim. “Put this on.”
Maxim looked at Fishface.
“Go on!” said Fishface. “Put it on. Must.”
Maxim realized that someone, somewhere, had made the decision he had been awaiting and that he was in for a change. He flung off the ugly jump suit and, with the stranger’s help, put on the new garment. Maxim thought it was neither handsome nor comfortable, but it was identical to the suit worn by the stranger. Perhaps the stranger had given him a spare suit of his own, for the jacket sleeves were too short and the trousers were baggy. But everyone else was pleased with Maxim’s appearance. The stranger mumbled his approval. Fishface’s features softened as she smoothed the shoulders and straightened the jacket. Even Floor-lamp smiled wanly from behind the control panel.
“Let’s go,” said the stranger as he moved toward the door.
“Good-bye,” said Maxim to Fishface. “And thank you,” he added in Lingcos.
“Good-bye,” replied Fishface. “Maxim good. Strong. Must go.”
She seemed upset. Or, perhaps, concerned that the suit didn’t fit too well. Maxim waved to the pale Floorlamp and hurried after the stranger.
They passed through several rooms cluttered with bulky archaic apparatus. They descended to the first floor in a rattling elevator and entered the low-ceilinged vestibule where Guy had de-posited Maxim days ago. Now, as then, he had to wait until some documents were prepared, until a funny little man in absurd head-gear scratched something on pink cards, and the stranger scratched something on green ones, and a girl wearing optical amplifiers punched notches in them. Then everyone exchanged their cards and everything got all mixed up, and finally the little man in the absurd headgear appropriated two green cards and a pink one. And the stranger received two pink ones, a thick blue one, and a round metal tag with an inscription on it. And a minute later he handed all this to a burly man with shiny buttons who was standing by the exit. When they were already outside, the burly fellow suddenly began shouting hoarsely, and the stranger re-turned again; it seems he had forgotten to take the blue card with him.
Maxim was seated to the right of the stranger in a ridiculously long automobile. The stranger was furious about something. Puffing and panting, he kept repeating Hippo’s favorite expletive: Massaraksh.”
The car growled, moved away gently from the curb, maneuvered through a stationary herd of cars, rolled along the broad asphalt square in front of the building, passed a large bed of wilted flowers, then a yellow wall, rolled on to the highway’s entrance ramp, and braked sharply.
“Massaraksh!” hissed the stranger as he turned off the engine.
An endless column of identical trucks stretched along the high-way. A row of stationary circular objects of wet shiny metal protruded above the side panels. The trucks moved slowly, maintaining appropriate intervals, their engines gurgling rhythmically. They spread a terrible stench of exhaust fumes everywhere.
Maxim studied the little door next to him, figured out how the window worked, and raised it. Without turning toward him, the stranger uttered a lengthy and completely incomprehensible sentence.
“I don’t understand,” said Maxim.
The stranger turned to him with a surprised expression and, judging from his intonation, asked a question. Maxim shook his j head.
The stranger seemed even more surprised. He dug into his pocket, pulled out a small flat box with little white sticks, stuck one in his mouth, and offered the rest to Maxim. Out of courtesy, Maxim accepted the little box and began to examine it. It was made of cardboard and smelled strongly of some kind of dried leaves. Maxim took out one of the little sticks, bit off a piece, and chewed it. He rolled down the window quickly, put his head out, and spat. It was not food.
“Must not,” he said, returning the box. “Taste bad.”
The stranger stared at him and his mouth dropped open. The white stick hung from his lip. Maxim, conforming with what appeared to be the local custom, touched a stick to the end of his nose and introduced himself: “Maxim.”
The stranger mumbled something. A spark suddenly appeared in his hand; he touched the tip of the white stick to it and instantly the car was filled with nauseating smoke.
“Massaraksh!” shouted Maxim angrily and he flung open the door. “Must not!”
Now he realized what these sticks were: when he was traveling with Guy, almost all the men had poisoned the air with the very same kind of smoke, but instead of white sticks they inserted in their mouths short and long wooden objects which looked like the little wooden whistles children used in ancient times. Apparently they inhaled some kind of narcotic—undoubtedly a very harmful custom. Maxim recalled how relieved he was to learn that Guy was also opposed to this custom.
The stranger quickly tossed the narcotic stick out the window and waved his palm in front of his face. To be on the safe side, Maxim waved his hand, too, and then introduced himself again. He learned that the stranger’s name was Fank, and with that the conversation ended. They sat and waited for about five minutes, exchanged friendly glances, and pointing out to each other the endless column of trucks, kept repeating: “Massaraksh!” Finally the endless column ended and Fank turned onto the highway.