For he saw wisdom in the lined, kindly faces. He saw a humility and sincerity that matched the simple clothing they wore. He saw a kindness that men talked about in books and sometimes felt in their hearts, but seldom held openly in their faces for the world to see. These men were handsome in their physical stature, but they could have been little men three feet high, and they would have been the biggest that Joel had ever seen.
Now they were talking in subdued tones to Sam, and then one produced a document, and handed Sam a slender writing stylus.
"Hey Sam—" The hoarseness of his voice unnerved him, but Joel plowed ahead. "Hadn't you oughtta read that thing?"
"It's already been read, Skipper. By Dobermann. It took him three days to draw it up—he did most of the writing himself. It's already been electrostated; we've got ten copies of our own. Now keep your mouth shut or they'll think we don't trust them. You sign first, because you're the guest. Then K'hall-i-k'hall, and it's all over."
Sam's thin face had a seriousness in it that Joel knew he did not dare question. The trouble is, the thought stung him, you doubt, because you were born and raised on Earth. Sam knows that. And he knows how these people think. And he says sign.... So sign, you big boob.
Silently, Joel took the stylus from Sam, bent quickly over the papyrus-like document, and put his name, rank and ship where Sam pointed. Then he gave the stylus to Sam, who returned it to K'hall-i-k'hall. And in another instant, all the mneurium-4 the White Whale could lift clear was theirs for the taking.
Once he'd put his mind to it, Joel could converse in the language of his hosts as fluently as either Dobermann or Carruthers, and within a month he had been able to finish a limited round of visits to a full dozen of the smaller cities and towns. These people had respected his wish that he be allowed to roam their streets and public buildings without official escort, and with an ever-quickening fading of his self-consciousness, he did.
He did, more and more frequently.
And from the vantage point of their peacefully winding roads or their quaint little shops where they dispensed a fluid amazingly similar to Martian Colony Bond, Joel could hate the White Whale from a comfortable distance, and with a healthy, untiring diligence. This he also did, more and more frequently.