Crawford still shook his head. "But they're a different people, a different race, a different culture. A mere fraction, say ten per cent, of the original Sioux, might have adapted to the new life. The others beat their heads out against the new ways. They fought--the Sitting Bull wars took place after the buffalo were already gone--they drank themselves to death on the white man's firewater, they committed suicide; in a dozen different ways they called it quits. Those that survived, the ten per cent, were the exceptions. They were able to adapt. They had a built-in genetically-conferred self discipline enough to face the new problems. Possibly eighty per cent of their children couldn't face the new problems either and they in turn went under. But by now, a hundred years later, the majority of the Sioux nation have probably adapted. But, you see, the point I'm trying to make? They're not the _real_ Sioux, the original Sioux; they're a new breed. The plains living, buffalo based culture, Sioux are all dead. The white men killed them." Jake Armstrong was scowling. "I get your point, but what has it to do with our work here in North Africa?" "We're doing the same thing to the Tuareg, the Teda and the Chaambra, and most of the others in the area in which we operate. The type of human psychology that's based on the nomad life can't endure settled community living. Wipe out the nomad way of life and these human beings must die." Abe said, unusually thoughtful, "I see what you mean, man. _Fish gotta swim, bird gotta fly_--and nomad gotta roam. He flips if he doesn't." Homer Crawford pursued it. "Sure, there'll be Tuareg afterward ... but all descended from the fraction of deviant Tuareg who were so abnormal--speaking from the Tuareg viewpoint--that they liked settled community life." He rubbed a hand along his jawbone, unhappily. "Put it this way. Think of them as a tribe of genetic claustrophobes. No matter what a claustrophobe promises, he can't work in a mine. He has no choice but to break his promise and escape ... or kill himself trying." Isobel was staring at him. "What you say, is disturbing, Homer. I didn't come to Africa to destroy a people." He looked back at her, oddly. "None of us did." Cliff said from behind the aircraft's controls, "If you believe what you're saying, how do you justify being here yourself?" "I don't know," Crawford said unhappily. "I don't know what started me on this kick, but I seem to have been doing more inner searching this past week or so than I have in the past couple of decades. And I don't seem to come up with much in the way of answers." "Well, man," Abe said. "If you find any, let us know."