Walking down the stairs, he peeled away the wrapper from one bundle, exposing green sheaves of currency. Back on the ground floor he put the stacks of bills on the newly arrived desk, and the dummy parcel in the drawer. He took one of the chairs, carried it to the desk and sat down. He looked toward the door. "You, there! At the head of the line! Come here." He was careful of his accent, realizing the necessity of impressing the waiting workers. He was pleased to find the accent near perfect. The woman, frail and elderly, came forward hesitantly. "My name is Anne, sir." "All right," he said, reaching for a bill from the top sheaf. "I forgot to bring a pen and paper. Take this and go get some. You may keep the change, and there'll be another bill when you get back." Her eyes widened. "Yes, sir." She held out a wrinkled hand. He did not need to glance toward the door again to know that an initial and important impression had been established. After she had gone, Parr leaned back in the chair and said to the other applicants, "You may come in now." They shuffled inside. * * * * * Parr watched them settle into chairs. As he did so, he was aware of _her_, Lauri, holding the pressure steady on his mind, and memories of last night came back. Concentrating away from them he tried to analyze his feelings toward the natives. He found a mixture of contempt and indifference. "I'm going to say this only once," he announced crisply. "I will expect you to inform any late comers. When I have finished I will interview each of you." He balanced his hands before him on the rim of the desk, holding them steady. He looked around at the waiting faces. He let his mind relax, and the speech--it had been graven on his brain in the Ship--came bubbling to the surface. He searched forward along it, and he found it to be complete, untouched by his contact with the Oholo. He wrinkled his forehead and began, seeking to give the impression that each word was being carefully considered. "I intend to hire some of you to help me sort and load packages of promotional literature. Those hired will be paid five dollars an hour." They shuffled unbelievingly. "Yeah, but when, Mister?" Parr's mind dipped for information. "Whenever you wish to. At the beginning of every day. Will that be satisfactory?" The listeners twisted uncomfortably, embarrassed by their doubt. "Now you're talkin'," the original critic said. Parr cleared his throat heavily for effect. "The work day may be as long as fourteen hours, depending on the circumstances." No questions, now. "The literature will come already packaged and labeled. It will be delivered to the roof by helicopter, and your job will be to sort it and transfer it to trucks." He looked them over. "I will need you for approximately three weeks." The pressure was still on his mind, not demanding, merely present. He writhed at it inwardly. Outwardly he was calm, his voice undisturbed.