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Updated: June 4, 2025
All we do now is try to protect the growing cultures, give a little jolt to the stagnating ones and bury the dead ones. When the work was first done here on Anvhar the theory hadn't progressed that far. The understandably complex equations that determine just where in the scale from a Type I to a Type V a culture is, had not yet been completed.
And there must be some form of recognized relationship or control that or complete promiscuity. On Anvhar the emphasis is on personal responsibility, and that seems to take care of the problem. If we didn't have an adult way of looking at ... things, our kind of life would be impossible.
"Up until a few months ago I never even considered leaving Anvhar. The Twenties are such a big thing at home that it is hard to imagine that anything else exists while you are still taking part in them." "Spare me the Twenties," she pleaded. "After listening to you and Ihjel, I know far more about them than I shall ever care to know. But what about Anvhar itself?
He saw suddenly with terrible clarity that to be a Winner was to be absolutely nothing. Like being the best flea, among all the fleas on a single dog. What was Anvhar after all? An ice-locked planet, inhabited by a few million human fleas, unknown and unconsidered by the rest of the galaxy. There was nothing here worth fighting for; the wars after the Breakdown had left them untouched.
In the brief instant after he fired, a jarring weight landed on his back and a line of fire circled his throat. Normally he fought with a calm mind, with no thoughts other than of the contest. But Ihjel, a friend, a man of Anvhar, had died a few seconds before, and Brion found himself welcoming this physical violence and pain.
The wonder of it is how you managed to convince him that you and the ship here could take care of me as well as his hospital could." "I could never convince him of that," Ihjel said. "But I and the Cultural Relationships Foundation have some powerful friends on Anvhar. I'm forced to admit I brought a little pressure to bear."
He had the height and the frame all right, but it was draped in billows of fat rounded, soft tissue that hung loosely from his limbs and made little limp rolls on his neck and under his eyes. There were no fat men on Anvhar, and it was incredible that a man so gross could ever have been a Winner. If there was muscle under the fat it couldn't be seen.
From the very beginning there had never been anything of real commercial interest on Anvhar. Well off the interstellar trade routes, there were no minerals worth digging and transporting the immense distances to the nearest inhabited worlds. Hunting the winter beasts for their pelts was a profitable but very minor enterprise, never sufficient for mass markets.
The man and woman who had bested every other contestant on the entire planet and who would remain unchallenged until the following year. Winner. It was a title to take pride in. Brion stirred weakly on his bed and managed to turn so he could look out of the window. Winner of Anvhar. His name was already slated for the history books, one of the handful of planetary heroes.
I suppose it is out of fashion in the rest of the galaxy and would probably raise a big laugh on Earth but a platonic, disinterested friendship between man and woman is an accepted thing on Anvhar." "Sounds exceedingly dull. If you are all such cool and distant friends, how do babies get made?" Brion felt his ears reddening, not sure if he was being teased or not.
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