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The tank took a long time to fill; until it did, they all sat immobile and fascinated. Even after it stopped, many remained, hoping that it would start again. Paul Meillard began wondering, a trifle uneasily, if that would happen every time the pump went on. "They get a positive pleasure from it. It affects them the same way Luis' voice does." "Mean I have a voice like a pump?" Gofredo demanded.
We don't have to speak Svantese to make them understand what we'll put up with and what we won't." "Later, Luis. After we've gotten a treaty with somebody." Meillard broke off. "Watch this!" The woman was making sign-talk. She pointed to the village on the mound. Then, with her hands, she shaped a bucket like the ones that had been given to them, and made a snatching gesture away from herself.
Friendly relations with the natives had to be established, and permission to settle had to be guaranteed in a treaty of some sort with somebody more or less authorized to make one. If Paul Meillard could accomplish that, he had it made. He would stay on with forty or fifty of the ship's company to make preparations.
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