urse, was "servant." "I do wish you'd come back to
Earth with us."

"Perhaps you would compel me to come?" he suggested, as Algol and the
mosquito-bat entered into hot competition to catch the crumbs before
they sank into the purple ooze.

"Oh, no! We'd want you to come as our guest--our friend." _Naturally_,
her thoughts ran, _a house guest would be expected to help with the
washing up and lend a hand with the cooking--and, of course, we wouldn't
have to pay him. Though my husband, I suppose, would requisition him as
a specimen._

_I fully intend to go to Earth with them_, Jrann-Pttt mused, _but
certainly not in that capacity. Nor would I care to be a specimen. I
must formulate some concrete plan._

The captain was crawling on top of the spaceship, scraping off the dried
mud, brushing away the leaves and dust that marred its shining purity.
The hot, humid haze that poured down from the yellow clouds made the
metal surface a little hell. Yet it was hardly less warm on the other
side of the clearing, where Miss Anspacher tried desperately to write up
her notes on a table that kept sinking into the spongy ground, and
hindered by the thick wind that had arisen half an hour before and which
kept blowing her papers off. The sweet odor of the flowers tucked in the
open neck of her already grimy white blouse suddenly sickened her and
she flung them into the mud.

"We won't be going back to Earth for a long time!" she called. Gathering
up the purple-stained papers, she came toward the others, little puffs
of mist rising at each step. "We like it here. Lovely country."

How could she think to please even the savage she fancied him to be by
such an inanity, Jrann-Pttt wondered. No one could possibly like that
fetid swamp. Or was it not so much that she was trying to please him as
convince herself? Was there some reason the terrestrials had for needing
to like Venus. It hovered on the edge of the women's minds. If only it
would emerge completely, he could pick it up, but it lurked in the
shadows of their subconscious, tantalizing him.

"I'd like to know when we're going to start putting up the shelters,"
Mrs. Bernardi said, pushing a streak of fog-yellow hair out of her eyes.
"I can't stand being cooped up for another night on that ship."

"You're planning to put up shelters--to live outside of the ship?" This
would seem to confirm his darkest suspicions. Even a temporary
settlement would leave them too open to visitation