Barstow asked their guide whether or not his people had any preferences as to where and how the Earthmen were to erect buildings. The question had been bothering him because a preliminary survey from the ship had disclosed no cities. It seemed likely that the natives lived underground-in which case he wanted to avoid getting off on the wrong foot by starting something which the local government might regard as a slum.
He spoke aloud in words directed at their guide, they having learned already that such was the best way to insure that the natives would pick up the thought.
In the answer that the little being flashed back Barstow caught the emotion of surprise. “. . . must you sully the sweet countryside with interruptions? . . . to what purpose do you need to form buildings? . .
“We need buildings for many purposes,” Barstow explained. “We need them as daily shelter, as places to sleep at night. We need them to grow our food and prepare it for eating.” He considered trying to explain the processes of hydroponic farming, of food processing, and of cooking, then dropped it, trusting to the subtle sense of telepathy to let his “listener” understand. “We need buildings for many other uses, for workshops and laboratories, to house the machines whereby we communicate, for almost everything we do in our everyday life.”
“Be patient with me . . .” the thought came, since I know so little of your ways . . . but tell me do you prefer to sleep in such as that? . . .” He gestured toward the ship’s boats they had come down in, where their bulges showed above the low bank. The thought he used for the boats was too strong to be bound by a word; to Lazarus’ mind came a thought of a dead, constricted space-a jail that had once harbored him, a smelly public phone booth.
“It is our custom.”
The creature leaned down and patted the turf. “. . . is this not a good place to sleep? . . .”
Lazarus admitted to himself that it was. The ground was covered with a soft spring turf, grasslike but finer than grass, softer, more even, and set more closely together. Lazarus took off his sandals and let his bare feet enjoy it, toes spread and working. It was, he decided, more like a heavy fur rug than a lawn. –
“As for food . . .”” their guide went on, “. . . why struggle for that which the good soil gives freely? . . come with me. . .”
He took them across a reach of meadow to where low bushy trees hung over aT meandering brook. The “leaves” were growths the size of a man’s hand, irregular in shape, and an inch or more in thickness. The little person broke off one and nibbled at it daintily.
Lazarus plucked one and examined it. It broke easily, like a well-baked cake. The inside was creamy yellow, spongy but crisp, and had a strong pleasant odor, reminiscent of mangoes.
“Lazarus, don’t, eat that!” warned Barstow. “It hasn’t been analyzed~”
“. . . it is harmonious with your body . .
Lazarus sniffed it again. “I’m willing to be a test case, Zack.”
“Oh, well-” Barstow shrugged. “I warned you. You will anyhow.”
Lazarus did. The stuff was oddly pleasing, firm enough to suit the teeth, piquant though elusive in flavor. It settled down happily in his stomach and made itself at home.
Barstow refused to let anyone else try the fruit until its effect on Lazarus was established. Lazarus took advantage of his exposed and privileged position to make a full meal-the best, he decided, that he had had in years.
“. . . will you tell me what you are in the habit of eating? . . .” inquired their little friend. Barstow started to reply but was checked by the creature’s thought: “. . . all of you think about it . .” no further thought message came from him for a few moments, then he flashed, “. . . that is enough . . -. my wives will take care of it . . .”