"Here is the Pentagon with the Machmen close by outside it. The Fundamentaloids could be anywhere here on the plains depending on the season. It is subtropical most of the year, but rainfall varies. They have herds of sheots, a very hardy ruminant, some kind of cross between a sheep and a goat. Now over here in the foothills is the closest thing that passes for civilization in these parts. An agricultural society with light industry that looks almost decent until you get close. There is a central city, right here, surrounded by farms. They mine and smelt silver and produce a coin called a fedha. It is the only currency on the planet and is used by almost everyone." He pulled a heavy bag out of a drawer and dropped it onto the table. "As you can well imagine they are easy enough to forge. In fact ours have more silver than the originals. Here's a supply for you. I suggest that you share it around and hide it well. A lot of types out there would be happy to kill you for just one of these. The people who mine the silver call their city Paradise-which is about as far away from a true description as you can get. Stay away from them-if you possibly can."

"I'll try to remember that. And I want to copy this into memory in my computer. Here."

I took off the small black metal skull that hung on a chain around my neck. When I squeezed it the eyes glowed greenly and a pressure-sensitive holoscreen blinked into being; I copied the map, thought about what Tremearne had said — and realized for the first time what a sinkhole we were being dropped into. I had another question.

"So everyone out there is a nutcase or a weirdo of some kind?"

"The ones that were sent here for various crimes are. The ones who were born here grow up and fit in just as well."

"And you feel no compassion for them? Doomed by an accident of birth to existence in this world-wide spittoon."

"I certainly do-and I am glad to hear you express yourself so clearly on the subject.