The three visitors climbed down.  Ruth Ortheris wore slacks and a sweater, but the slacks were bloused over a pair of ankle boots.  Gerd van Riebeek had evidently done a lot of field work:  his boots were stout, and he wore old, faded khakis and a serviceable-looking sidearm that showed he knew what to expect up here in the Piedmont.  Juan Jimenez was in the same sports casuals in which he had appeared on screen last evening.  All of them carried photographic equipment.  They shook hands all around and exchanged greetings, and then the Fuzzies began clamoring to be noticed.  Finally all of them, Fuzzies and other people drifted over to the table under the trees.

Ruth Ortheris sat down on the grass with Mamma and Baby.  Immediately Baby became interested in a silver charm which she wore on a chain around her neck which tinkled fascinatingly.  Then he tried to sit on her head.  She spent some time gently but firmly discouraging this.  Juan Jimenez was squatting between Mike and Mitzi, examining them alternately and talking into a miniature recorder phone on his breast, mostly in Latin.  Gerd van Riebeek dropped himself into a folding chair and took Little Fuzzy on his lap.

“You know, this is kind of surprising,” he said.  “Not only finding something like this, after twenty-five years, but finding something as unique as this.  Look, he doesn’t have the least vestige of a tail, and there isn’t another tailless mammal on the planet.  Fact, there isn’t another mammal on this planet that has the slightest kinship to him.  Take ourselves; we belong to a pretty big family, about fifty-odd genera of primates.  But this little fellow hasn’t any relatives at all.”

“Yeek?”

“And he couldn’t care less, could he?” Van Riebeek pummeled Little Fuzzy gently.  “One thing, you have the smallest humanoid known; that’s one record you can claim.  Oh-oh, what goes on?”

Ko-Ko, who had climbed upon Rainsford’s lap, jumped suddenly to the ground, grabbed the chopper-digger he had left beside the chair and started across the grass.  Everybody got to their feet, the visitors getting cameras out.  The Fuzzies seemed perplexed by all the excitement.  It was only another land-prawn, wasn’t it?

Ko-Ko got in front of it, poked it on the nose to stop it and then struck a dramatic pose, flourishing his weapon and bringing it down on the prawn’s neck.  Then, after flopping it over, he looked at it almost in sorrow and hit it a couple of whacks with the flat.  He began pulling it apart and eating it.

“I see why you call him Ko-Ko,” Ruth said, aiming her camera, “Don’t the others do it that way?”

“Well, Little Fuzzy runs along beside them and pivots and gives them a quick chop.  Mike and Mitzi flop theirs over first and behead them on their backs.  And Mamma takes a swipe at their legs first.  But beheading and breaking the undershell, they all do that.”

“Uh-huh; that’s basic,” she said.  “Instinctive.  The technique is either self-learned or copied.  When Baby begins killing his own prawns, see if he doesn’t do it the way Mamma does!”