"I think these sky ones good spirits, not like you."
"What do you mean?" asked the other suspiciously.
"When in hard talk, you get red in face almost like human. They not. The she-spirit a little, yes. But the other ... I think he is best spirit of all!"
"Aw, what do you know about Terrans?" demanded Guthrie uncertainly.
"What are Terrans?" Polf leered at the effort to take him in by a trick name. "You, Gut'rie, you act like us. You learn fear evil spirits like smart man. Maybe was trick of good ones—send you here so we make mistake."
Guthrie stared down at the stocky Skirkh, trying to follow that chain of thought and wondering how many in the village would find it logical.
Most of them, I'm afraid, he thought. I wonder ... what if I just kept quiet and let him dig his own grave? If I read Trent right, he'll do it!
They sat for a while on the crest of the low hill, in the warmth of the sun. Polf seemed not to mind Guthrie's brooding. Patience was a Skirkhi forte. At times, the spacer pitied the natives, with their harsh and precarious life.
Maybe something could be done here, he reflected. A good, thorough survey would tell. After all, G. S. engineers have controlled temperatures on some planets by diverting a few ocean currents. And there's cloud-seeding....
"Huh!" he grunted. "Already thinking as if I were safe on Jhux."