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Every new development suggested that these half-naked primitives–with no machine civilization, no cities, no form of space flight–had an intellectual potential superior to man’s. The first question asked by one of the broad-shouldered savages underscored that conclusion.

“Have you come to our world as colonists?”

No mumbo-jumbo of superstition, no awe of strangers who had suddenly descended upon them from the sky. Lord answered, “We landed in order to repair our ship, but I hope we can make a trade treaty with your government.”

For a moment the six men consulted among themselves with a silent exchange of glances. Then one of them smiled and said, “You must visit our villages and explain the idea of trade to our people.”

“Of course,” Lord agreed. “If you could serve as interpreters–“

“Our people can learn your language as rapidly as we have, if we can borrow your language machine for a time.”

Lord frowned. “It’s a rather complex device, and I’m not sure–you see, if something went wrong, you might do a great deal of harm.”

“We would use it just as you did; we saw everything you turned to make it run.” One of the golden-skinned primitives made a demonstration, turning the console of dials with the ease and familiarity of a semantic expert. Again Lord was impressed by their intelligence–and vaguely frightened.

“You could call this the first trade exchange between your world and ours,” another savage added. “Give us the machine; we’ll send you fresh food from the village.”

The argument was logical and eventually the natives had their way. Perhaps it was Ann Howard’s intervention that decided the point. She vehemently disapproved; a gift of techniques should be withheld until she had examined their cultural traditions. But Martin Lord was a trade agent, and he had no intention of allowing his mission to be wrecked by the ephemeral doubts of a teacher. Here at the onset was the time to make it clear that he was in command. He gave the natives the machine.

As the six men trudged across the burned earth carrying the heavy apparatus easily on their shoulders, Lord wondered if either he or Ann Howard had much to do with the negotiations. He had an unpleasant feeling that, from the very beginning, the natives had been in complete control of the situation.

* * * * *

Less than an hour after the six men had departed, a band of natives emerged from the forest bearing gifts of food–straw baskets heaped with fruit, fresh meat wrapped in grass mats, hampers of bread, enormous pottery jars filled with a sweet, cold, milky liquid. Something very close to the miraculous had occurred. Every native had learned to use the Federation language.

A kind of fiesta began in the clearing beside the Ceres. The natives built fires to cook the food. The women, scantily dressed if they were clothed at all, danced sensuously in the bright sunlight to a peculiarly exotic, minor-keyed music played on reed and percussion instruments. Laughing gaily, they enticed members of Lord’s crew to join them.

The milky drink proved mildly intoxicating–yet different from the stimulants used in the Federation. Lord drank a long draught from a mug brought him by one of the women. The effect was immediate. He felt no dulling of his reason, however; no loss of muscular control, but instead a stealthy relaxation of mental strain joined with a satisfying sense of physical well-being. A subtle shifting in prospective, in accepted values.

The savage feast, which grew steadily more boisterous, Lord would have called an orgy under other circumstances. The word did occur to him, but it seemed fantastically inapplicable. Normally the behavior of his men would have demanded the severest kind of disciplinary action. But here the old code of rules simply didn’t apply and he didn’t interfere with their enjoyment.