VI

He touched the "release" button and felt himself flung away from the

_Special Agent_. He boosted his little vessel around a semicircle

several kilometers in diameter, as he had been instructed, so the

position of the big ship would not be given away when he approached the

ground. He overmodulated the drive then, to make plenty of noise, and

headed directly for the waiting native. Over a suitable grassy spot, he

waited until he was sure the Azuran had seen him; then he eased down

slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves.

He landed with the nose about ten degrees too low, settled with a

rolling bump, and opened the port as soon as he could manage. He

mumbled to himself a bit, practising his little speech. Then he stepped

out.

The blast-rifle looked like a ninety-millimeter projector. It scowled

viciously at his abdomen from only twenty paces away. He swallowed

several times and managed a trembly little smile.

The native continued to inspect him sourly through the peepsight. A

tentacle seemed to twitch impatiently at the trigger.

"After all," the linguist thought rapidly, "a facial expression such

as a smile is probably meaningless to him. I shall have to make a more

significant sign, as in that sketch." He unbuckled his holster belt and

carefully laid it to one side, hand-guns and all. Still no response.

He walked forward halfway to the native, holding up his open hands. He

recited his speech, then, and stood waiting.

With his first words, the other's attitude changed. The gun was lowered

slowly while the native stared at him with big, black, disk-like eyes.

He stared back, examining the bright red native with interest. Long

feet, with two toes like pincers; heavily muscled legs; middle limbs

like arms, with short, powerful hands of a sort; two six-fingered

tentacles growing out from the sides of the head--

One of the middle limbs reached out and tugged at his arm

experimentally. The native said something evidently meaning "Come

along". Stuart walked along with him, reporting "Okay, so far," into

his radio. The two beings walked up to the entrance to the cave, from

where the scout ship could just be seen. Suddenly the smaller native

sprang out of the brush and backed the linguist against a tree, holding

the crossbow almost at his throat. The first native whirled, aimed the

blast-rifle at the scout ship, and fired. There was a flash at the

ship's bow, and a deep gash was blasted into the metal.

"Aru!" said the natives.

Stuart's earphone crackled, but the signal was weak. "What's going on?"

came Gordon's voice, faintly. "Get away from them and we'll blow them

to smithereens!"

He tried to think clearly. "I don't know how to get away," he realized

miserably. "Never had any of that combat training." He found the native

with the blast-rifle chattering at him; the other had withdrawn the

crossbow from his throat. "I'm all right," he reported weakly. He

listened to the native a moment, then added, "This is rather puzzling,

though. They actually seem friendly. I believe one of them is telling

me that we're friends now."

"That lousy iron hill you're on is killing your signal, Stuart. I can

hardly hear you. You're in plain sight, though, through the telescope.

Shall we come after you?"

The natives were pulling at the linguist's arm, urging him toward the

cave. "No, keep out of sight a while," he shouted, shaking his head. "I

believe they want me to come with them."

* * * * *

The reply from the _Special Agent_ was unintelligible. Stuart allowed

the Azurans to guide him into the cave; he was not surprised to find

it the end of a long tunnel through the coral. Two other natives came

running past and took up positions as guards just inside the entrance.

The phosphorescent material of the hill itself supplied a feeble light.

There seemed to be an alarm system of some sort, for handles were set

into small square boxes on the walls every fifty meters or so.

During the hour-long walk, Stuart learned bits of the natives'

language. If one could apply the hitherto universally valid criteria of

the Linguistic Academy, he decided, this language represented a long

history of high culture and philosophical achievement. He found the

idea encouraging.

He was already constructing simple sentences when the tunnel turned

sharply and entered a small cave. It was really an underground room, he

noticed, with several corridors leading away. One of his guides pulled

a lever; a moment later a dozen other natives entered the room. With

them was a monkey-rat, sporting Rogers' two hunting knifes; it pointed

to the linguist and chattered shrilly. The linguist recognized one of

the Azurans as the one he had caught. The first to enter, however,

seemed considerably older than the rest. Stuart guessed he was a high

official.

The elderly one approached the Earthman and held out his tentacles

to the sides. It seemed to mean something. There was a short, tense

silence.

"Of course!" exclaimed Stuart to himself. "The gesture of peaceful

intent: showing the absence of weapons!" He held up his hands, likewise

empty, and repeated his speech.

There were murmurs of "Aru!" around him. Unobtrusive weapons were

unobtrusively lowered. Sketching materials were brought to the

official: sheets of something like parchment, and a reed which exuded

an inky substance through a fine hole. Two blocks of what seemed to

be extraordinarily soft wood were carried in; the official sat down,

somewhat in human fashion, and motioned the language expert to do

likewise.

The "conversation" lasted almost two hours. Stuart, by sketching and

using a few words, explained his mission. The natives seemed to

understand; judging by their awareness of the outer universe, they

had considerable scientific knowledge. He guessed, though, that their

technology was more biological than mechanical. They knew where the

Invaders were from, what they had looked like, and how some of their

mechanisms had operated. But Azuran culture, never warlike, had been

unable to strike back, and had been so badly smashed that there had

been no opportunity to use the captured knowledge.

"They nearly destroyed my people," explained the official with words

and pictures. "We were many millions. Now only thousands. We saved

what we could and hid underground, scattered. For five years we

have struggled to stay alive. Now we are regaining our strength and

can think of building again. But always we must be ready for the

Invaders. They killed for nothing or for amusement. Took nothing except

specimens; apparently they wanted nothing here but sport. They simply

attacked without warning one day, all over the planet, and hunted us

for fifty-four days. Then they disappeared. We caught a few live ones

outside their ships by trickery, and we captured two small ships the

same way. But in our difficulty we have had little time to investigate

the ships."

"Where are the captured creatures?" asked Stuart.

"Oh, they did not live long." The other's manner did not indicate

regret. "They needed high temperature and a special atmosphere to

stay alive, and of course we had inadequate means to care for them.

We made very thorough biological studies of them, however." He shook

his tentacles, as if in disgust. "They were remarkably unpleasant.

Colorless, and gritty to the touch. Completely hateful. They used to

throw dissected specimens of our people out of their ships; sometimes

live people were dropped."

* * * * *

He nodded toward the blast-rifle. "You are good to offer weapons. From

certain records we found, we believe the enemy will return soon. I

understand your need for a base here. I can speak for my people ...

what is left of them. We accept your offer. Come down again tomorrow to

the clearing in your big ship. Our highest leader will be present, and

a treaty will be made."

Abruptly, thus, the interview was over. The old native was obviously

tired. The linguist got to his feet, intending to express his pleasure

at the outcome. He had his mouth open, and it stayed that way when

the blast-rifle was suddenly thrust into his hands. The official, who

had handed it to him, put a tentacle on his shoulder in what Stuart

recognized as a gesture of friendship.

The linguist grinned, put his hand on the other's shoulder, and handed

back the weapon.

There was a great din of whistling and cries of "Aru! Aru naa lo!"

It became a sort of cheer, with a crowd of natives following Stuart

and his three guides back down the tunnel. The old official stood and

watched them go.

Back in the daylight, the linguist was startled to discover that

Procyon was low in the sky and that night was near. He hurried down the

path toward his scout ship to get away from the iron hill. Hastily he

switched on his radio. Before he could catch his breath enough to talk,

he heard White's voice.

"Hey, I see him! There he is, chief; there's the little guy!" Sounds of

the drive being activated came through the earphone.