ch he would be acting chief editor and producer. At 0700,
Foxx Travis put in an appearance. They went down to the fourth floor, to
the little room they had fitted out as command-post, control room and
office for Operation Shoonoo.

There was a rectangular black traveling-case, initialed E. S., beside
the open office door. Travis nodded at it, and they grinned at one
another; she'd come early, possibly hoping to catch them hiding
something they didn't want her to see. Entering the office quietly, they
found her seated facing the big viewscreen, smoking and watching a
couple of enlisted men of the First Kwannon Native Infantry at work in
another room where the pickup was. There were close to a dozen
lipstick-tinted cigarette butts in the ashtray beside her. Her private
face wasn't particularly happy. Maybe she was being earnest and
concerned about the betterment of the underpriviledged, or the satanic
maneuvers of the selfish planters.

Then she realized that somebody had entered; with a slight start, she
turned, then rose. She was about the height of Foxx Travis, a few inches
shorter than Miles, and slender. Light blond; green suit costume. She
ditched her private face and got on her public one, a pleasant and
deferential smile, with a trace of uncertainty behind it. Miles
introduced Travis, and they sat down again facing the screen.

It gave a view, from one of the long sides and near the ceiling, of a
big room. In the center, a number of seats--the drum-shaped cushions the
natives had adopted in place of the seats carved from sections of tree
trunk that they had been using when the Terrans had come to
Kwannon--were arranged in a semicircle, one in the middle slightly in
advance of the others. Facing them were three armchairs, a
remote-control box beside one and another Kwann cushion behind and
between the other two. There was a large globe of Kwannon, and on the
wall behind the chairs an array of viewscreens.

"There'll be an interpreter, a native Army sergeant, between you and
Captain Travis," he said. "I don't know how good you are with native
languages, Miss Shaw; the captain is not very fluent."

"Cushions for them, I see, and chairs for the lordly Terrans," she
commented. "Never miss a chance to rub our superiority in, do you?"

"I never deliberately force them to adopt our ways," he replied. "Our
chairs are as uncomfortable for them as their low seats are for us.
Difference, you know, doesn't mean inferiori