Summary

H. B. Fyfe A Transmutation of Muddles

At the lower levels, some of the natives seemed to be experimenting with a coating of wet leaves which they were molding to the wall.
"They've soaked them in something they boil out of fish parts," his pilot explained. "Like the village roofs. When it dries, it's pretty hard, even waterproof. The stink never dries out."
"But what do they have in their bony little brains?" asked Mayne. "Just what is that mess supposed to be?"
"A temple, believe it or not," answered Voorhis. "They tell me I set her down on land sacred to the great god Meeg!"
Mayne looked at Haruhiku.
Source: Gutenberg

H. B. Fyfe A Transmutation of Muddles

Mayne nodded. He clutched the arm of the Gemsbok operator, who was being urged away by Igrillik and a group of warrior escorts.
"Just one thing, son," he shouted over the babble. "Forget about the ship's call sign. You go on the air calling yourself Kappa Orionis Central Control."
"Kappa Orionis Central...?" repeated the youth distrustfully.
"You've got it," said Mayne, and shoved him on his way. He turned to Haruhiku. "The last thing to do is to send the helicopter for some paint. I don't care if it isn't dry when the Diamond Belt touches down—I want a sign over the door of this hut!"
Source: Gutenberg

H. B. Fyfe A Transmutation of Muddles

Haruhiku's pilot approached with a new message.
"Now they have to land near here, in half an hour or less," said the spacer.
"There's just one more thing," Mayne told him. "Voorhis is satisfied, Melin—look, he's gone to sleep on the table!—is relieved, the Kappans are friendly, and J. P. McDonald will be happy when he lands. Now I have to get myself off the hook for two million!"
He turned to the Gemsbok crewmen loitering before the hut.
"Who was the communications man?" he demanded.
A lean, freckled youth with a big nose admitted to the distinction.
Source: Gutenberg

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