She favored him with a one-sided grin. "Some are foraging. A few are
gregarious. You met one just now. Fortunately, I got here in time to
save her life."
McManus's jaw dropped. "Save _her_ life! You don't mean that crawly
brute that tried to kill me just now?"
"If she threatened you," said the girl with careful enunciation such as
she might use to a child, "it was because you had disturbed her peace."
"And it--she--was what you'd call a person?" demanded Pritchard, "Do
you mean that you consider absolutely all the living, moving things
here, people?"
The girl nodded firmly. Pritchard gazed at her, pawing his chin.
"Tell me," he murmured, "do they kill one another for fresh meat?"
She sighed. "They still do, but I'm trying to cure them of that. That's
the work I'm doing. They only kill, after all, for food. I'm trying to
cure them of the killing habit by getting them to switch to synthetabs.
I've--"
The rest of her words were drowned in a tidal wave of laughter. The men
exploded, beat each other, howled, and fell on the ground. She stared
down at them, and her eyes began to smolder anew.
Pritchard fought his own face straight and wheeled on them. "Cut that
out!" he yelled. "As you were!" They gurgled back at him, pleading
their helplessness, hugging their sides. McManus gripped his cheeks and
tried to squeeze his mouth straight, but strangled gusts still shook
him.
The spectacle weakened Pritchard's own control and he turned quickly
back to the girl. The sight of her beauty, now in a passionate rage,
cut sharply across his mirth. He noticed with interest that the thin
strip of hide across those heaving breasts was undergoing maximum
strain.
"Please allow me to apologize for my men," he said gravely. "I'm sure
they don't mean to be insulting. What is your name, by the way, so I
can at least report it to the Board?"
Her chin was up. "Cornelia Boyce," she said haughtily.
"And how did you manage to survive the attack on the Survey camp?"
"I was away." She was calming a little. "They came at sunrise but I
wasn't there. I was out, learning to ride one of the--the people."
Pritchard looked down quickly and coughed. Fresh gurgles sounded behind
him. The cam-rec whirred on. "But you are all right here? You can take
care of yourself?"
"I am in no danger," she said icily. "In four years I have won most of
the people over to my side. They protect me. In turn, and in my own
way, I protect them. I've learned how to make synthetabs and I also
feed them from the 'ponics gardens. And now I'll do my best to protect
them from you. I'm sure I can't appeal to your decency but I can appeal
to your reason, and perhaps convince you that this is a poor world to
hunt in."
"Now, listen, Miss Boyce," Pritchard cut in patiently, "we're not here
on a mission of slaughter. I gather, and please correct me if I'm
wrong, that you're one of that group back on Terra that opposes
big-game hunting."
"You are completely correct about that," she interposed.
"--and are pushing through legislation to make it illegal under the
Space Code. But we already adhere to the Space Code. We are most
zealous, I assure you, to avoid bagging anything parahuman, anything
that exhibits anything like human intelligence. We--"
"That's precisely why you should abandon your hunting here. My good
man, just what do you consider intelligence?" She held up her hand
to prevent his answering. "For instance, a good many of the what you
would call animals on this little planet have developed a spoken
language. And I don't mean a mother's warning to her cubs, or one male
challenging another. I mean, for instance, the news I received this
morning." She smiled. "Would you like to know what a little bird told
me?"