I looked at Bailey, and he looked at Dr. Sorenson. "Lord, I don't know.
Except for the possibility of microbe infection, they appear perfectly
harmless to me," Sorenson said.
I said, "Since they don't like our scent there doesn't seem to be much
danger of contact. Phil, why don't we call off the yellow alert with the
exception of a rule or two about fraternization in closed spaces?"
Benson looked over his people. All were paired off now, husband with
wife. And to a man their arms were wrapped protectively around their
respective spouses, watching for the decision. Their faces read, "Is
this innocuous little race of people the cause of all the trouble?"
Benson rubbed the gray of his temple with a knuckle. He mounted the ramp
and announced, "The emergency is reduced to a blue alert. Women will
have the freedom of the clearing and the visible beach, but only
authorized working parties will enter the forest. Men will continue to
wear sidearms. When outside shelters are complete we will sleep in them,
but until then, or until we are better informed about the natives, we
shall continue sleeping in the ship."
* * * * *
The new order of the day did nothing to mitigate the resentment and
tension, but it did accelerate assembly of the lumber mill and house
construction. The little Sirians seemed to have satisfied their
curiosity, for they left us to our labors for a whole week.
The first building of our projected village was completed on the seventh
day. It was little more than a two-room shanty, but it represented the
most sought after prize of the moment, _privacy_!
We drew lots for it, and, with the uncommon justice, one of the hardest
working amateur carpenters won. The women brought in armloads of grass
for a couch and decorated it with wild-flowers. When evening fell it
seemed like an occasion for a celebration, and Benson relented on the
evening curfew.
We gathered scraps from the lumber mill, carefully cleared a sandy strip
on the beach of all inflammable matter and built a huge bonfire. In the
rich atmosphere even the green wood burned merrily, spitting green sap
and sending up clouds of pungent, aromatic smoke.
Sue had just curled up in the crook of my arm, and we were working on a
case of Earth-nostalgia, when we noticed our visitors again. They came
bounding, up to the wide rim of the firelight. They jabbered in excited,
ecstatic voices but stopped short of our human assembly. Only one, I
recognized him as Joe, picked his way through us and came close to
inspect the crackling blaze.
Fascinated, Sue and I watched his profile contort with an expression of
immense admiration. It was not the awe of a savage, but the heartfelt
appreciation of a human for a rare and beautiful spectacle.
"Fire must be unknown to them," Sue whispered.
"At least mighty rare," I said. "The handbook says no volcanoes and no
thunderstorms."
Joe turned at the sound of our low voices. With eyes half-blinded by the
glare he searched for me. "Samrogers!" he called clearly. "Samrogers!"