"And blind, too?" Compton wanted to know. "And without the sense of touch?" There was a strange quality to his voice, as though some primitive part of his unconsciousness was telling him to run.
Hinckley bent to tap the girl lightly upon the shoulder. "Pardon me, Miss. We're visitors from Earth," he told her.
But she paid no attention to the sound of his voice, and he stepped back, puzzled.
"Now what?" Compton wanted to know. He looked around him nervously, at the house, the speckled sand, the rocket squatting behind them. "I hope all the natives aren't like this."
"I do," Parker said, licking his lips thoughtfully and keeping his gaze on the girl. "I'd just as soon have them all like this. It might be interesting."
Compton flushed. "What I meant—"
"He knows what you meant," Hinckley said harshly. "And there won't be any of that going on here. You caused enough trouble on the other planets, and it's not going to happen again, not while I'm in charge of this expedition. We didn't come all the way out here just so you could satisfy your romantic inclinations."
"And how about my off hours, Captain," Parker said, emphasizing the word as though it were obscene; "then may I fraternize?"
"You have no off hours," Hinckley said sternly.
"Here comes another one," Compton warned in a whisper.