sales. Our shelves are almost bare. But the other trading post still has plenty of stock. "Mr. Brooks," says Inspector Caldwell, bitter, at breakfast, "we'll have to take most of the Palmyra's cargo to fill up our inventory." "Maybe," he says, tender, "and maybe not." "But we've got to drive that other post out of business!" she says, desperate. Then she breaks down. "This—this is my first independent assignment. I've got to handle it successfully!" He hesitates. But just then Deeth comes in. He beams friendly at Inspector Caldwell. "A compliment for you, ma'am. Three of them." She goggles at him. Brooks says, gentle, "It's all right. Deeth, show them in and get some presents." Inspector Caldwell splutters incredulous, "But—but—" "Don't be angry," says Brooks. "They mean it as a compliment. It is, actually, you know." Three Moklin girls come in, giggling. They are not bad-looking at all. They look as human as Deeth, but one of them has a long, droopy mustache like a mate of the Palmyra—that's because they hadn't ever seen a human woman before Inspector Caldwell come along. They sure have admired her, though! And Moklin kids get born fast. Very fast. They show her what they are holding so proud and happy in their arms. They have got three little Moklin kids, one apiece. And every one of them has red hair, just like Inspector Caldwell, and every one of them is a girl that is the spit and image of her. You would swear they are human babies, and you'd swear they are hers. But of course they ain't. They make kid noises and wave their little fists. Inspector Caldwell is just plain paralyzed. She stares at them, and goes red as fire and white as chalk, and she is speechless. So Brooks has to do the honors. He admires the kids extravagant, and the Moklin girls giggle, and take the compliment presents Deeth brings in, and they go out happy. When the door closes, Inspector Caldwell wilts. "Oh-h!" she wails. "It's true! You didn't—you haven't—they can make their babies look like anybody they want!"
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