“Where?” I asked, for I will admit the question intrigued me.

“Nowhere. Nowhere at all. Oh, you might be able to get by in the sticks, but class will tell eventually. You’ve got to romp home with an Oscar now and then to show the reviewers that you’re interested in fine things as well as money-making potboilers.”

I concentrated on memorizing, deciding to reserve interpretation for later. Perhaps this was my mistake, perhaps I should have asked more questions. But it was all so bewildering, so stimulating…

“The stereos have gone a long way since the pioneering sound movies of medieval times,” he continued. “Solid images that appeal to all five senses in gorgeous panoramas of perception.”

Hogan Shlestertrap paused and went on with even more passion. “And wasn’t it said that Shlestertrap Productions had their special niche, their special technique among the senses? Yes, sir! No greater accolade could be accorded a stereo than to say it had the authentic Shlestertrap Odor. The Shlestertrap smell—how I used to slave to get that in just right! And I almost always succeeded. Oh, well, they say you’re just as good as your last stereo.”

I took advantage of the brooding silence that followed to clack my small tentacle hesitantly.

The emissary looked up. “Sorry, fella. What we’ve got to do here is turn out a stereo based on your life, your hopes and spiritual aspirations. Something that will make ’em sit up and take notice way out in Peoria. Something that will give you guys a culture.”

“We need one badly. Particularly a culture to defend us against—”

“All right.