Then the Company and the Five
Families got together and marketed a luxury item to the galaxy. You know
how every super-jet big shot on twenty-five planets wants to say he's
hunted on Khatka. And if he can point out a graz head on his wall, or
wear a tail bracelet, he's able to strut with the best. To holiday on
Khatka is both fabulous and fashionable--and very, very profitable for
the natives and for Combine who sells transportation to the travelers."
"I hear they have poachers, too," Dane remarked.
"Yes, that naturally follows. You know what a glam skin brings on the
market. Wherever you have a rigidly controlled export you're going to
have poachers and smugglers. But the Patrol doesn't go to Khatka. The
natives handle their own criminals. Personally, I'd cheerfully take a
ninety-nine-year sentence in the Lunar mines in place of what the
Khatkans dish out to a poacher they net!"
"So that rumor has spread satisfactorily!"
Coffee slopped over the brim of Tau's mug and Dane dropped the packet of
steak concentrate he was about to feed into the cooker. Chief Ranger
Asaki loomed in the doorway of the mess as suddenly as if he had been
teleported to that point.
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