If You Was a MOKLIN By MURRAY LEINSTER Illustrated by HARRY ROSENBAUM [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction September 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] You'd love Earthmen to pieces, for they may look pretty bad to themselves, but not to you. You'd even want to be one! Up to the very last minute, I can't imagine that Moklin is going to be the first planet that humans get off of, moving fast, breathing hard, and sweating awful copious. There ain't any reason for it. Humans have been on Moklin for more than forty years, and nobody ever figures there is anything the least bit wrong until Brooks works it out. When he does, nobody can believe it. But it turns out bad. Plenty bad. But maybe things are working out all right now. _Maybe!_ I hope so. At first, even after he's sent off long reports by six ships in a row, I don't see the picture beginning to turn sour. I don't get it until after the old _Palmyra_ comes and squats down on the next to the last trip a Company ship is ever going to make to Moklin. Up to that very morning everything is serene, and that morning I am sitting on the trading post porch, not doing a thing but sitting there and breathing happy. I'm looking at a Moklin kid. She's about the size of a human six-year-old and she is playing in a mud puddle while her folks are trading in the post. She is a cute kid--mighty human-looking. She has long whiskers like Old Man Bland, who's the first human to open a trading post and learn to talk to Moklins. Moklins think a lot of Old Man Bland. They build him a big tomb, Moklin-style, when he dies, and there is more Moklin kids born with long whiskers than you can shake a stick at. And everything looks okay. _Everything!_ Sitting there on the porch, I hear a Moklin talking inside the trade room. Talking English just as good as anybody. He says to Deeth, our Moklin trade-clerk, "But Deeth, I can buy this cheaper over at the other trading post! Why should I pay more here?" Deeth says, in English too, "I can't help that. That's the price here. You pay it or you don't. That's all." I just sit there breathing complacent, thinking how good things are. Here I'm Joe Brinkley, and me and Brooks are the Company on Moklin--only humans rate as Company employees and get pensions, of course--and I'm thinking sentimental about how much humaner Moklins are getting every day and how swell everything is. The six-year-old kid gets up out of the mud puddle, and wrings out her whiskers--they are exactly like the ones on the picture of Old Man Bland in the trade room--and she goes trotting off down the road after her folks. She is mighty human-looking, that one.