Fear was not a factor. He was too consumed with curiosity. What would it actually be like to meet something that had matured under another sun? And intelligent, besides. What would be his reaction those first few seconds? Disgust? Terror? Worship? And what would provide that first, all-important commonality?
A port opened in the side of the alien ship. A single figure detached itself from the dark opening and moved rapidly toward them at a waddling gait.
Cleve analyzed it and prayed that no one would be insane enough to laugh at the comical method of locomotion. Those same waddling feet might contain long, needle-sharp claws especially designed for chastising disrespectful inferiors. He had a sudden, horrible thought that the Murrin might be telepathic, but dismissed it almost as quickly. They’d given no indication
79
WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE . ..
of it, and, if they were, there was absolutely nothing that could be done about it.
Soon the alien was standing in front of him. He could have reached out and touched the maroon metal suit. Surprisingly, the creature was nearly a foot shorter than Cleve’s six-two, but it was built far stockier. From inside a transparent plastic or glass helmet, two jet-black eyes stared up at him.
No time like the present, he thought, and held out both hands palm up. The psychologists had told him this ought to express trust, friendship, and a hearty welcome. Cleve hoped so.
The alien reacted by removing a roll of paper-thin metal from a jacket pouch and slapping it in Cleve’s outstretched right hand. It spoke rapidly over the preset wave-length.