able only to devise the idea of using the axe to hammer things with and are not capable of thinking of a special hammering tool.

With almost complete lack of creative ability they are bound to the same routine, to which they adhere with an almost religious fanaticism.

Since last night I have been treated as virtually a god. I have been given one of their buildings entirely for my own use.

I find this turn of events absolutely surprising. I intend to discuss this with the Leader today. (Note to any ethnologist who may see these papers: Since all quronos are built to the same standards none is superior to another. But, recognizing the need for one director, each of the one hundred has an alternate term as Leader.)

900: Ninth day

Despite the upsetting turn of events Barnhart decided he was more comfortable in his familiar role of command.

He glanced at his wristwatch and was surprised to note that he had overslept. The time for both breakfast and chronopting was past. He made himself ready and left the building.

The alien was waiting just outside the door. He looked as if he hadn't moved all night. Yet, Barnhart thought, he seemed a trifle shorter.

"Are you the Leader?" Barnhart asked.

"I am the Leader. But you are the Master."

As an officer of a close-confines spaceship that sounded a little stuffy even to Barnhart. The fellow still looked shorter. Maybe they had changed Leaders the way he had been told the night before. Or maybe quronos shrank when left out in the night air.

"Let's go someplace where we can sit down. And, incidentally, just call me 'sir' or 'captain.'"

"Yes, sir."

Barnhart nodded. He had been expecting: Yes, Master, I will call you 'captain.'

But the alien didn't move. He finally decided that the Leader thought they could sit on the ground where they were standing.

Barnhart squatted.

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