O Pioneer! Read Online Free PDF

seemed to some of them, especially the most patriotic of the Americans, that there was a subtle insult concealed in the fact that the Pentagon had been turned into a root cellar.
    — BRITANNICA ONLINE , " TUPELO "
     
    The Hexagon—the place where all six of the colonizing races, human and eetie, got together to talk over whatever interests they had in common and, in particular, to stop disagreements before they got started—was larger and fancier than Evesham Giyt had expected. Each species had its own special place: chairs for the bipeds, a pretty little artificial tree for the Kalkaboos to perch in, a kind of couch for the Centaurians, and a two-meter-long cushion, with internal plumbing to keep it warm and damp, for the use of the Slugs.
    As Giyt walked in for his first meeting, all five of the other leaders rose to welcome him—the ones that were physically able to rise, anyway. There was an unexpected spatter of applause from the eight or ten people, almost all humans, sparsely occupying the chairs and chair equivalents that were set aside for the use of the audience, whenever there happened to be one. The Centaurian female—the translator in his ear gave her name as Mrs. Brownbenttalon—was taking her turn in the regular rotation as president for the week, and so she made a speech of greeting. Of course Giyt could make nothing of the squeaks and squeals that came from her pursy little mouth, but his translation phone duly rendered it for him in English—well, more or less English: "The total of us who are not from the planet Earth human are overcomely delighted, Large Male Giyt, to have you participate us in our unceasing struggle to ensure no hitting and the getting of along." To ensure peace and friendship, Giyt corrected for himself, thinking it wouldn't hurt to take a look at those translation programs.
    She went on from there, giving Giyt time to look around. He had never before seen all six of Tupelo's colonial races in the same place. Mrs. Brownbenttalon, whose Centaurian title was Divinely Elected Savior, looked more or less like a curly-haired anteater, nearly two meters long as she crouched on her cushions. Mr. Brownbenttalon, her main husband, was a tiny thing the size of a chipmunk, and he was crawling around in her fur and whispering in her ear as she spoke. The Delt General Manager was listening intently, sucking on his fingers—maybe, Giyt thought, because of embarrassment over his recent behavior at the mass. In the doll-sized armchair of the Petty-Primes their Responsible One was lackadaisically sprawled and staring uninterestedly at the ceiling. The High Champion of the Kalkaboos was tucked into a fork of its tree, but listening intently with its immense elephant ears. And the Principal Slug was, well, a slug; and if it was showing any sign at all of what was going through its mind, Giyt could not detect it.
    When Mrs. Brownbenttalon finished her speech Giyt, feeling foolish but nevertheless obliged to do so, offered a few words in response. All he said was that he was honored to be selected and hoped he would do credit to this body that was responsible for maintaining order on Tupelo. Giyt knew it wasn't a particularly great speech. He didn't expect an ovation, but all the same he was surprised at the chill of the response. The Delt took his fingers out of his mouth to peer at him reprovingly, and even the Slug twitched.
    But no one said anything, and then Mrs. Brownbenttalon got down to business. She reported to the commission that the power plant on Energy Island, six kilometers across the strait, was going to need expansion, and each home planet would be required to supply funds and materials for the job. Additional farmland had been cleared on the far side of their own island, and each race was entitled to 3.962 hectares for its own purposes, the particular allotment for each to be determined by a random drawing—after which, of course, they could swap back and forth as much as they