He had been working for only a few minutes when one of the "natives" came crawling up to him; and, after ascertaining that his hard steel armor was not good to eat, drew off and observed him intently. Here was another opportunity for practice, and in a flash the Lensman availed himself of it. Having practiced for hours upon the minds of various Earthly animals, he entered this mind easily enough, finding that the Trenconian "flat" was considerably more intelligent than a dog. So much so, in fact, that the race had already developed a fairly comprehensive language.
Therefore, it did not take long for the Lensman to learn to use his subject's peculiar limbs and other members, and soon the flat was working like a Trojan. And, since he was ideally adapted for his wildly raging Trenconian environment, he actually accomplished more than all the rest of the force combined.
"It's a dirty trick I'm playing on you, fellow," Kinnison told his helper after a while. "Come on into the receiving room and I'll see if I can square it with you."
Since food was the only logical tender, Kinnison brought out from his speedster a small can of salmon, a package of cheese, a bar of chocolate, a few lumps of sugar, and a potato, offering them to the Trenconian in order. The salmon and the cheese were both highly acceptable fare. The morsel of chocolate was a delightfully surprising delicacy. The lump of sugar, however, was what really rang the bell. Kinnison's own mind felt the shock of pure ecstasy as that wonderful substance dissolved in the trenco's mouth. He also ate the potato, of course—any Trenconian animal will, at any time, eat anything containing carbon, even limerock, gasoline, or truck grease—but it was merely food, nothing to rave about.
Knowing now what to do, Kinnison led his assistant out into the howling, shrieking gale and released him from control, throwing a lump of sugar upwind as he did so. The trenco seized it in the air, ate it, and went into a very hysteria of joy.
"More! More!" he insisted, attempting to climb up the Lensman's armored leg.
"You must work for more of it, if you want it," Kinnison explained. "Break off these plants here and carry them over into that empty thing over there, and you get more."
This was an entirely new idea to the native, but after Kinnison had taken hold of his mind and had shown him how to do consciously that which he had been doing unconsciously for an hour, he worked willingly enough. In fact, before it started to rain, thereby putting an end to the labor of the day, there were a dozen of them toiling at the harvest and the crop was coming in as fast as the entire crew of Rigellians could process it. And even after the space port was sealed they crowded up, paying no attention to the rain, bringing in their small loads of leaves and plaintively asking admittance.
It took some little time for Kinnison to make them understand that the day's work was done, but that they were to come back to-morrow morning. Finally, however, he succeeded in getting the idea across, and the last disconsolate turtle-man went reluctantly away. But sure enough, next morning, even before the mud had dried, the same twelve were back on the job. The two Lensmen wondered simultaneously how those trencos could have found the space port. Or had they stayed near it through the storm and flood of the night?