"I know this sounds sort of silly, Mr. H," he said, "but would you touch this for me?"

Heidel complied, then asked him, "What did I do?"

The young man laughed and looked away, depositing the carving within his shirt once more.

"Oh, I guess I'm a little superstitious, like everyone else," he said. "That's my good luck piece. With everyone talking the way they are about you, I figured it couldn't do any harm."

"Talking? What are they saying? Don't tell me that 'holy man' thing has followed me here too?"

"I'm afraid that it has, sir. Who knows? There may be something to it."

"You work in the hospital. You spend a big piece of your time among scientists."

"Oh, they're the same way, most of them. Maybe it has to do with living this far away from things. Some of the preachers say it's sort of a reaction because we're close to nature again, after our ancestors had spent centuries living in big cities. Whatever the reason, thanks for humoring me."

"Thanks for the ride."

"Best of luck."

Heidel stepped out and entered the store.

He replenished his supplies, then seated himself at a table in the windowless back room. The room was lighted by eight ancient, insect-specked glow-globes set in the walls, and was almost adequately air-conditioned. Despite the fact that he was the only customer, it was a long while before he was served. He ordered a local steak and brew and refrained from inquiring as to the nature of the beast from which the steak had been cut, a policy he had long before determined to be prudent when on brief visits to strange worlds. As he sipped the brew and waited for the meat, he reflected upon his condition.

He was still a geologist. It was the only thing he could do well and do safely.