"Please," she said, "I'd rather not discuss it any more. But I think you'd better leave. Certainly, you'd better not kill anything if you know what's good for you. Besides, you've done enough damage already." Pritchard cleared his throat. The men behind him were whispering and snickering. "Speaking of leaving," he said, "how about you? If the Survey was wrecked--" "I'm not interested in leaving," she said curtly. "I've got work to do here." "What work?" "I'm working with the people here." "Oh, there _are_ natives?" "Certainly. This world is full of people." He scowled his impatience. "What's their cultural stage?" She favored him with a one-sided grin. "Some are foraging. A few are gregarious. You met one just now. Fortunately, I got here in time to save her life." McManus's jaw dropped. "Save _her_ life! You don't mean that crawly brute that tried to kill me just now?" "If she threatened you," said the girl with careful enunciation such as she might use to a child, "it was because you had disturbed her peace." "And it--she--was what you'd call a person?" demanded Pritchard, "Do you mean that you consider absolutely all the living, moving things here, people?" The girl nodded firmly. Pritchard gazed at her, pawing his chin. "Tell me," he murmured, "do they kill one another for fresh meat?" She sighed. "They still do, but I'm trying to cure them of that. That's the work I'm doing. They only kill, after all, for food. I'm trying to cure them of the killing habit by getting them to switch to synthetabs. I've--" The rest of her words were drowned in a tidal wave of laughter. The men exploded, beat each other, howled, and fell on the ground. She stared down at them, and her eyes began to smolder anew. Pritchard fought his own face straight and wheeled on them. "Cut that out!" he yelled. "As you were!" They gurgled back at him, pleading their helplessness, hugging their sides. McManus gripped his cheeks and tried to squeeze his mouth straight, but strangled gusts still shook him. The spectacle weakened Pritchard's own control and he turned quickly back to the girl. The sight of her beauty, now in a passionate rage, cut sharply across his mirth. He noticed with interest that the thin strip of hide across those heaving breasts was undergoing maximum strain. "Please allow me to apologize for my men," he said gravely. "I'm sure they don't mean to be insulting. What is your name, by the way, so I can at least report it to the Board?" Her chin was up. "Cornelia Boyce," she said haughtily. "And how did you manage to survive the attack on the Survey camp?" "I was away." She was calming a little. "They came at sunrise but I wasn't there. I was out, learning to ride one of the--the people." Pritchard looked down quickly and coughed. Fresh gurgles sounded behind him. The cam-rec whirred on. "But you are all right here? You can take care of yourself?"