"We'll set up reservations for them, so they can't interfere with our operation."
"They won't have weapons to match ours," Henig suggested hopefully.
"If you go in uniform, Lieutenant, even these witless things would recognize you as an alien. It would be foolish to let them know we exist, until we have the final report on your physical survey."
"Sir, are we actually sure—"
"You're questioning the computer logic?" The Scientist-General was very amused.
"Not that, sir. It's just—you see, I'm a solider, and I don't understand these things."
"You'll have to take our conclusion on faith, Lieutenant. You're the only individual of your particular species aboard, and it would be absurd for us to wait for the center to send out a scientist with your physical qualifications. This planet is too insignificant for us to waste that much time on the survey. The chemistry of the atmosphere and the pressure of gravity approximate what you're accustomed to on your home world, Lieutenant Henig. And the co-incidence of your appearance is the best disguise you could have."
"Sir, isn't it true that sometimes on these primitive worlds, the animal species war against each other? Wouldn't I be likely to get involved?"
"The computers say no. And we can't argue against mechanical logic, can we, Lieutenant?"
Naturally the scientists relied on their data, Henig thought bitterly; but they weren't making the observation—they weren't standing naked and unarmed on an alien world. The miniature recorders sent down by the ship were only machines, after all, without a logical sense of judgment. The Lieutenant had experienced alien worlds before. Facts were all very well, but the unpredictable quality of emotion was something else again. How could a recorder make note of that? How could feeling be measured or tabulated by the computers?