Dr. Tarnier spread his hands again. "Mr. Kielland, I'm a mere mortal. In order to measure something, it has to stay the same long enough to get it measured. In order to describe something, it has to hold still long enough to be observed. In order to form a logical opinion of a creature's mental capacity, it has to demonstrate some perceptible mental capacity to start with. You can't get very far studying a creature's habitat and social structure when most of its habitating goes on under twenty feet of mud." "How about the language?" "We get by with squeaks and whistles and sign language. A sort of pidgin-Venusian. They use a very complex system among themselves." The doctor paused, uncertainly. "Anyway, it's hard to get too tough with the Pups," he burst out finally. "They really seem to try hard--when they can just manage to keep their minds to it." "Just stupid, carefree, happy-go-lucky kids, eh?" Dr. Tarnier shrugged. "Go away," said Kielland in disgust, and turned back to the reports with a sour taste in his mouth. Later he called the Installation Comptroller. "What do you pay Mud-pups for their work?" he wanted to know. "Nothing," said the Comptroller. "_Nothing!_" "We have nothing they can use. What would you give them--United Nations coin? They'd just try to eat it." "How about something they _can_ eat, then?" "Everything we feed them they throw right back up. Planetary incompatibility." "But there must be _something_ you can use for wages," Kielland protested. "Something they want, something they'll work hard for." "Well, they liked tobacco and pipes all right--but it interfered with their oxygen storage so they couldn't dive. That ruled out tobacco and pipes. They liked Turkish towels, too, but they spent all their time parading up and down in them and slaying the ladies and wouldn't work at all. That ruled out Turkish towels. They don't seem to care too much whether they're paid or not, though--as long as we're decent to them. They seem to like us, in a stupid sort of way." "Just loving, affectionate, happy-go-lucky kids. I know. Go away." Kielland growled and turned back to the reports ... except that there weren't any more reports that he hadn't read a dozen times or more. Nothing that made sense, nothing that offered a lead. Millions of Piper dollars sunk into this project, and every one of them sitting there blinking at him expectantly. For the first time he wondered if there really _was_ any solution to the problem. Stumbling blocks had been met and removed before--that was Kielland's job, and he knew how to do it. But stupidity could be a stumbling block that was all but insurmountable. Yet he couldn't throw off the nagging conviction that something more subtle than stupidity was involved....