As a psychologist I knew that Joe responded to the tala similarly to the way a human dipsomaniac does to alcohol. When he was well-supplied he was cheerful and happy. When he ran out, he became taciturn and irritable. His frequent resort to the liquor, when we tried to force him to answer troublesome questions, confirmed my suspicion that there were certain matters his brilliant mind simply refused to embrace, and the simplest way to avoid worrying about them was to take another drink of tala. Benson and I discussed this one afternoon while Joe was taking a nap. We sat in the shade of my hut spooning the lush pulp of a mango into our mouths. He said, "Everything points to a race of super-intelligence held down by sheer degeneracy." "You mean the tala-drinking?" I asked. He nodded. "For one thing. Our work parties report that they never stop drinking the stuff. The older ones get quite plastered. I've seen it myself. Disgusting. And they have no common sense of, of--well, I shouldn't say decency, because obviously morality as we know it just doesn't exist. But thank heavens they don't care for the scent of humans." I said, "Don't depend on that too much. I asked Joe about it, and he said that we don't necessarily smell bad to them. It's just so alien to any scent they've known that they tend to shy off. Joe is quite used to it now. He lets Sue rub his back and his head. She's made quite a pet of him." Benson didn't like this news at all. He pondered thoughtfully for a moment. "That means that they'll all gradually get used to being around us. I don't like it, Phil. They're just human enough to have a bad influence on the colony. They're dissolute and entirely without ambition. In fact they seem to have damned little race survival instinct at all." I had pondered this many times, but it hadn't struck me as especially dangerous to the colony. Benson went on, "We have a glorious planet here, rich in minerals and other natural resources. By comparison, Earth is so worn-out and depleted and over-crowded that the contrast is almost too great." "What are you driving at?" I demanded. "Just this. From the first the biggest problem here has been to prod everyone to work. We have a civilization to build here, and that means clearing more land, breaking the soil, mining, construction, manufacturing." "Look," I said somewhat impatiently, "you don't expect 80 people to accomplish all this in four years, surely?" "I expect progress," he said firmly. "Do you realize that when we finished the last of the forty houses that virtually ended the building program? Work on the two warehouses, the water system, sewage disposal plant and the commissary we planned is almost at a standstill." "The people want time to finish up their homes and make them comfortable," I objected. "That's what they say," he told me, "but they're fooling away their time." "Phil, we've only been here a month, and--"