id the Comptroller.

"_Nothing!_"

"We have nothing they can use. What would you give them--United Nations
coin? They'd just try to eat it."

"How about something they _can_ eat, then?"

"Everything we feed them they throw right back up. Planetary
incompatibility."

"But there must be _something_ you can use for wages," Kielland
protested. "Something they want, something they'll work hard for."

"Well, they liked tobacco and pipes all right--but it interfered with
their oxygen storage so they couldn't dive. That ruled out tobacco and
pipes. They liked Turkish towels, too, but they spent all their time
parading up and down in them and slaying the ladies and wouldn't work at
all. That ruled out Turkish towels. They don't seem to care too much
whether they're paid or not, though--as long as we're decent to them.
They seem to like us, in a stupid sort of way."

"Just loving, affectionate, happy-go-lucky kids. I know. Go away."
Kielland growled and turned back to the reports ... except that there
weren't any more reports that he hadn't read a dozen times or more.
Nothing that made sense, nothing that offered a lead. Millions of Piper
dollars sunk into this project, and every one of them sitting there
blinking at him expectantly.

For the first time he wondered if there really _was_ any solution to the
problem. Stumbling blocks had been met and removed before--that was
Kielland's job, and he knew how to do it. But stupidity could be a
stumbling block that was all but insurmountable.

Yet he couldn't throw off the nagging conviction that something more
subtle than stupidity was involved....

Then Simpson came in, cursing and sputtering and bellowing for Louie.
Louie came, and Simpson started dictating a message for relay to the
transport ship. "Special order, rush, repeat, rush," Simpson grated.
"For immediate delivery Piper Venusian Installation--one Piper
Axis-Traction Dredge, previous specifications applicable--"

Kielland stared at him. "Again?"

Simpson gritted his teeth. "Again."

"Sunk?"

"Blub," said Simpson. "Blub, blub, blub."

Slowly, Kielland stood up, glaring first at Simpson, then at the little
muddy creatures that were attempting to hide behind his waders, looking
so forlorn and chastised and woebegone. "All right," Kielland said,
after a pregnant pause. "That's all. You won't need to relay that order
to the ship. Forget about Number Seven dredge. Just get your files in
order and get a landin