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suppressed fury. He jerked Conan about and ordered hoarsely, “Get going!”
    â€œWhere are you taking me?”
    It was not until they were in front of what was obviously a boat shop that Repko bothered to reply. “The others wanted you disqualified,” he said, almost making the lie sound like truth. “But we decided to give you a chance. It’s the only chance you’ll get. Next time it’ll be the desert.” He raised his voice and called, “Patch! Where are you?”
    â€œHey? What is it?”
    The irascible old fellow with the single glittering eye who appeared suddenly in the doorway couldn’t possibly be Teacher. To Conan at that moment he seemed like a total stranger, and a very unpleasant one at that.
    Repko said, “Here’s that helper you wanted.”
    â€œHelper?” Patch rasped. “ Him? Is this a joke?”
    â€œIsn’t this the fellow you asked for?”
    â€œPhah! I asked for him a week ago. He’s no good to me in the condition he’s in!”
    â€œThen feed him,” Repko muttered, turning away from the fierceness of that coldly glittering eye. “He’s your worry now.”
    As the two men hurried away, Patch broke into a furious tirade directed at the stupidity of humans and the unfairness of circumstance. In the middle of it he broke off and whirled upon a short fellow with bandy legs who had come to the door.
    â€œWhat are you standing there gawking about, you butterfingered ape? Get moving! Draw an issue of clothes and a ration of slop for that prize package they brought us. And you—” Patch swung suddenly to Conan, and snarled, “You stink! Hop in the water yonder and wash it off—and don’t take all day doing it. This is a boat shop, not a men’s club. We have work to do!”
    Conan was shaken by the blast, even though he knew it to be an act. The ill-tempered old crank was as opposite from Teacher as a man could be. But he was thankful for the opportunity to wash, and he drew off his filthy clothing and tottered, with a fine pretense of weakness, into the harbor.
    Long before he was ready to crawl out, the bandy-legged helper, Tellit, appeared. The man brought clothing, a bottle of water, and food in a plastic container.
    â€œWhew!” Tellit exclaimed, staring at Conan’s lean body with its rippling muscles. “To see you with your clothes on, I wouldn’ta dreamed—” Then, “Shake it up and get dressed! The old devil will make it hard on us both if you are slow.”
    Conan slapped himself partially dry and fumbled into the clean clothes. While he ate, Tellit spoke angrily about Patch.
    â€œI hate his guts! He’s a brand just like the rest of us—but does he ever help you? No! He’ll downgrade you and rob you every time!”
    â€œRob you? Of what?”
    â€œOf points! That’s all we’ve got here. Points. It takes a thousand points to make citizen third. You know what that dirty old buzzard did to me last month? I had nine hundred points. But would he give me a break and put in a good report so I could get more? No! He marked me down and I lost thirty points! All because I goofed on a couple things and spoiled some plastic.”
    â€œFor just a brand, how did he manage to get so much power?”
    â€œBecause the old devil knows boats.”
    â€œBut—” Conan frowned, finding it hard to associate Teacher with anything nautical. “There ought to be a lot of people here who could build something as simple as a boat.”
    â€œIn a city full of lab workers? Pshaw.” Tellit spat, and glanced uneasily at the shop. “This place wasn’t even on the sea until the Change. Oh, they had a channel cut to the coast, but that didn’t make boatbuilders out of anybody. Sure, there were a few who thought they could build one—till they tried. Old Patch saw what they were doing, and said the thing would