Ruth seemed troubled.  “Gerd, Dr. Mallin has found absolutely nothing about them that indicates true sapience.”

“Oh, Mallin be bloodied; he doesn’t know what sapience is any more than I do.  And a good deal less than you do, I’d say.  I think he’s trying to prove that the Fuzzies aren’t sapient.”

Ruth looked startled.  “What makes you say that?”

“It’s been sticking out all over him ever since he came here.  You’re a psychologist; don’t tell me you haven’t seen it.  Maybe if the Fuzzies were proven sapient it would invalidate some theory he’s gotten out of a book, and he’d have to do some thinking for himself.  He wouldn’t like that.  But you have to admit he’s been fighting the idea, intellectually and emotionally, right from the start.  Why, they could sit down with pencils and slide rules and start working differential calculus and it wouldn’t convince him.”

“Dr. Mallin’s trying to—­” she began angrily.  Then she broke it off.  “Jack, excuse us.  We didn’t really come over here to have a fight.  We came to meet some Fuzzies.  Didn’t we, Goldilocks?”

Goldilocks was playing with the silver charm on the chain around her neck, holding it to her ear and shaking it to make it tinkle, making small delighted sounds.  Finally she held it up and said, “Yeek?”

“Yes, sweetie-pie, you can have it.”  Ruth took the chain from around her neck and put it over Goldilocks’ head; she had to loop it three times before it would fit.  “There now; that’s your very own.”

“Oh, you mustn’t give her things like that.”

“Why not.  It’s just cheap trade-junk.  You’ve been on Loki, Jack, you know what it is.”  He did; he’d traded stuff like that to the natives himself.  “Some of the girls at the hospital there gave it to me for a joke.  I only wear it because I have it.  Goldilocks likes it a lot better than I do.”

An airjeep rose from the other side and floated across.  Juan Jimenez was piloting it; Ernst Mallin stuck his head out the window on the right, asked her if she were ready and told Gerd that Kellogg would pick him up in a few minutes.  After she had gotten into the jeep and it had lifted out, Gerd put Ko-Ko off his chest and sat up, getting cigarettes from his shirt pocket.

“I don’t know what the devil’s gotten into her,” he said, watching the jeep vanish.  “Oh, yes, I do.  She’s gotten the Word from On High.  Kellogg hath spoken.  Fuzzies are just silly little animals,” he said bitterly.

“You work for Kellogg, too, don’t you?”

“Yes.  He doesn’t dictate my professional opinion, though.  You know, I thought, in the evil hour when I took this job—­” He rose to his feet, hitching his belt to balance the weight of the pistol on the right against the camera-binoculars on the left, and changed the subject abruptly.  “Jack, has Ben Rainsford sent a report on the Fuzzies to the Institute yet?” he asked.

“Why?”