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Updated: June 28, 2025
She began scuttling about, picking up imaginary litter and sweeping with an imaginary broom. The man started pounding with an imaginary hammer, then chopping with an imaginary ax. Lillian was clapping her hands softly. "Good; got it the first time. 'You let us stay; we work for you. How about it, Paul?" Meillard nodded.
Things we eat might kill them," Fayon said. "Meats will be especially dangerous. And no caffein, and no alcohol." "Alcohol won't hurt them," Schallenmacher said. "I saw big jars full of fermenting fruit-mash back of some of those houses; in about a year, it ought to be fairly good wine. C H OH is the same on any planet." "Well, we'll get native foodstuffs tomorrow," Meillard said.
On the end of the mound toward the Terran camp, animals of at least four different species were crowded, cattle that had been herded up from the meadows at the first alarm. The open circle in the middle of the village was crowded, and more natives lined the low palisade along the edge of the mound. "Well, we're going to stay here till we learn the language," Meillard was saying.
Meillard was raising his hands; solemnly he addressed the natives: "'Twas brillig and the slithy toves were whooping it up in the Malemute Saloon, and the kid that handled the music box did gyre and gimble in the wabe, and back of the bar in a solo game all mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgabe the lady that's known as Lou."
You know, you're not going to have any trouble at all, when we go down-country to talk to the king or whatever. This is better than fire-water ever was." "We must never misuse our advantage, Luis," Meillard said seriously. "We must use it only for their good." He really meant it.
"It's not right to keep the rest aboard two hundred miles off planet, and you won't be wanting liberty parties coming down where you are." "The country over there looks uninhabited," Meillard said. "No villages, anyhow. That wouldn't hurt, at all." "Well, it'll suit me," Charley Loughran, the xeno-naturalist, said. "I want a chance to study the life-forms in a state of nature." Vindinho nodded.
That was something to wonder about, too. The differences between one and another of the Terrans must puzzle them. Paul Meillard, as close to being a pure Negro as anybody in the Seventh Century of the Atomic Era was to being pure anything. Lillian Ransby, almost ash-blond.
Sonny managed to reassure her, and insisted on going along, and he insisted on taking his ax with him. That meant doubling the guard, to make sure Sonny didn't lose his self-control when he saw his former persecutors within chopping distance. It went off much better than either Paul Meillard or Luis Gofredo expected.
Just try to get some pump-sound frequencies into it, like Luis'." "But why? I'm no use here. I'm a linguist, and these people haven't any language that I could ever learn, and they couldn't even learn ours. They couldn't learn to make sounds, as sounds." "You've been doing very good work with Mom on those ideographs," Meillard said.
The sun was barely past noon meridian before the Svants, who had ventured down into the fields at sunrise, were returning to the mound-village. In the snooper-screen, they could be seen coming up in tunics and breechclouts, entering houses, and emerging in long robes. There seemed to be no bows or spears in evidence, but the big horn sounded occasionally. Paul Meillard was pleased.
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