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“But the Damorlanti don’t have to move in the same direction. They may look human and even act human, but they don’t think human.”

The colonel clasped his hands behind his head and sighed. “There have been articles against us in the paper, and whenever we go out in the street people—natives, I mean—make nasty remarks and sometimes even faces at us. And what have we done to them? Carefully minded our own business, avoided all cultural contacts except for trade purposes, paid them much more than the going price for their goods, and gave them one or two tips on health and sanitation. As a result, they’re beginning to hate us.”

“But if you send a report, it’ll bring the staff ship in ahead of time. Maybe the whole thing’ll blow over. This way, you’re not giving it a chance to.”

The colonel chewed his lip. “Well,” he finally said, “I might as well wait and see if the rumor’s verified before I report it.”

Clarey went back to Katund. The months went by. The friendly atmosphere in the Furbush had vanished, and not as many people stopped and chatted when they came to the library. But there wasn’t any actual incident until the evening Clarey was walking home after late night at the library and a stone struck him between the shoulder-blades. “Dirty Earthman!” a voice called, and several pairs of feet scuttled off.