“But savages don’t strike off into an unknown ocean for, for curiosity,” I stammered.

“These do,” Haraszthy grunted. I could almost see the relays clicking in his blocky head. There were tremendous commercial possibilities here, foods and textiles and especially the dazzling artwork. In exchange—

“No!” Vaughan exclaimed. “I know what you’re thinking, Trader Haraszthy, and you are not going to bring machines here.”

The big man bridled. “Says who?”

“Says me, by virtue of the authority vested in me. And I’m sure the Council will confirm my decision.” In that soft air Vaughan was sweating. “We don’t dare!”

“What’s a Council?” Mierna asked. A shade of trouble crossed her face. She edged close to the bulk of her animal.

In spite of everything, I had to pat her head and murmur, “Nothing you need worry about, sweetheart.” To get her mind, and my own, off vague fears: “Why do you call this fellow an oontatherium? That can’t be his real name.”

“Oh, no.” She forgot her worries at once. “He’s a yao and his real name is, well, it means Big-Feet-Buggy-Eyes-Top-Man-Underneath-And-Over. That’s what I named him. He’s mine and he’s lovely.” She tugged at an antenna. The monster actually purred. “But Pengwil told us about something called an oont you have at your home, that’s hairy and scary and carries things and drools like a yao, so I thought that would be a nice English name. Isn’t it?”

“Very,” I said weakly.

“What is this oont business?” Vaughan demanded.

Haraszthy ran a hand through his hair. “Well,” he said, “you know I like Kipling, and I read some of his poems to some natives one night at a party. The one about the oont, the camel, yeah, I guess that must have been among ’em. They sure enjoyed Kipling.”

“And had the poem letter-perfect after one hearing, and passed it unchanged up and down the coast, and now it’s crossed the sea and taken hold,” Vaughan choked.

“Who explained that therium is a root meaning ‘mammal’?” I asked. Nobody knew, but doubtless one of our naturalists had casually mentioned it. So five-year-old Mierna had gotten the term from a wandering sailor and applied it with absolute correctness: never mind feelers and insectoidal eyes, the yao was a true mammal.

After a while we emerged in a cleared strip fronting on the bay. Against its glitter stood the village, peak-roofed houses of wood and thatch, a different style from Dannicar’s but every bit as pleasant and well-kept. Outrigger canoes were drawn up on the beach, where fishnets hung to dry. Anchored some way beyond was another boat. The curved, gaily painted hull, twin steering oars, mat sails and leather tackle were like nothing on our poor overmechanized Earth; but she was sloop-rigged, and evidently a deep keel made it impossible to run her ashore.

“I thought so,” Baldinger said in an uneven voice. “Pengwil went ahead and invented tacking. That’s an efficient design. He could cross the water in a week or less.”