Cantrell nodded bitterly. "And we could have done so much for them in return. A new world, I think you said!..." He emitted a short laugh, edged with cynicism. "Well ... Terra-Government can't afford to ship from a hostile planet. Too damn expensive. We'll just have to equip another expedition and start looking again...." Harris nodded absently, his eyes thoughtful. "Uh-huh.... But if we could only have understood those little monkeys! Maybe they didn't mind our taking the sola. Maybe it was something else.... Rob," he blurted, "one of the junior ethnologists has a theory; did you hear? He...." "Junior ethnologists have always got a theory!" the captain snorted. "Lack of experience!" "Yeah, but ..." Harris pursued. "This kid says he thinks those little S'zetnurs were a cult of beauty-worshippers. You know? Like they used to have on Venus? Eugenic mating--killing off the imperfect ones. He says they just don't understand about nutrition; that's why it's so tragic that they're all deformed and diseased now. None of them are beauties any more, and they don't know why. But when they saw us...." "Nuts!" said Cantrell rudely. "Yeah, but.... The doll. Maybe it was an image of the way _they_ used to be. A sort of pattern for them to remember.... And you know how that poor joe kept ... _looking_ at us? The one all tricked-up in flowers? This ethno thinks they sent him to be mated with one of our women...." "Good God!" the pilot laughed. "... and that poor slob of a woman, who acted so upset when you strapped your spacewatch around her wrist. The kid thinks you marked her for death, and...." "Oh, go soak your head! And that junior ethnologist's, too!" Cantrell chuckled. "I understood those babies, all right! They're just a bunch of greedy, ignorant morons, who were determined not to let a shipful of strangers cart off any of their lousy little planet! You and your ... glass wall!" He punched Harris on the shoulder in affectionate scorn. The astrogator grinned feebly; then with more assurance, because Cantrell was his friend and he trusted his judgment. "Yeah ..." he said. "Yeah, Rob; I guess you're right...." End of Project Gutenberg's The Conquistadors Come, by M. E. Counselman