* * * * *
Our people were scattered over an acre around the ramp, and encompassing
them was a semi-circle of at least a hundred "savages", frozen like
bronze statues at the sound of the gun-shot. They curved in an arc less
than a hundred yards from the ship.
Their hands were empty of weapons, and their motionless attitudes were
in no way threatening. To the contrary, they seemed small and quite
inoffensive except for their numbers.
Acting in my capacity as psychologist, I ran up the ramp and called out
as calmly as a shout would permit, "Everybody take it easy! Don't make
any quick moves. Above all, don't anyone fire off a weapon again unless
there is an obvious attack."
Benson clutched my arm. "Are you mad? We've got to get the women
inside."
"That's what I'm thinking," I said. "But if we invite attack by running
they won't all make it."
"They aren't armed. The men can stand them off."
"Then what are you worrying about?" I demanded. "Relax for a minute and
see what happens."
Benson simmered and reluctantly accepted my logic. Meanwhile, the line
of natives became mobile again. They closed in at a casual saunter,
rolling off the balls of their long feet with a peculiar, slow, bouncing
motion.
A ripple of subdued exclamations ran through our people, and in turn the
little natives moved their lips, turned their heads to one another and
seemed to be commenting among themselves.
Benson began hissing futile commands for the women to start boarding the
ship. No one paid any attention. I could sense no great danger in the
situation. In fact I felt more attracted than repelled by the little
golden-haired creatures.
Bailey, who was still on the ramp, took a different view. He called out,
"They don't look dangerous, but keep away from them. Lord knows what
kind of bugs they may have in them."
It was a sobering thought. Their most insignificant disease germ might
easily wipe out our colony if it proved contagious.
Yet, how could we stop these natives without inflicting bloodshed? On
they came in their shambling, loose-gaited walk. Benson was unsnapping
his holster flap, and even the highly curious women were beginning to
shrink back toward the gangplank, when a light breeze swept through us
from behind. It rustled the grass softly and moved into the natives,
only 20 yards away.
The wavering line stopped again. Segments began to retreat, first
singly, then in pairs and groups. All but a handful of the most curious
suddenly bounded for the forest and disappeared.
The others came forward again, but with increasing bewilderment.
Repeatedly, they raised their noses and sniffed the air.
Bailey said from behind us, "They catch our scent and don't know what to
make of it. Thank heavens most of them took off. We can handle a dozen
of them easily enough."
Our people opened ranks and let the little creatures infiltrate. Sue
squeezed my arm. "Why, they're beautiful little things! They make me
feel self-conscious with my bleached-out skin. They certainly look
intelligent, those eyes--no fear in them at all--look, they're even
smiling!"
Indeed, several of the creatures were grinning broadly at the male
members of our party. They found our clothing amusing.
Now we could hear their soft voices conversing in a language that was
liquid with a great many compound vowel sounds, not unlike Earth's
Finnish tongue. Their quick, dark eyes seemed to take in everything.
They seemed torn between a consuming curiosity and a strong aversion to
our scent. One by one they satisfied the former and yielded to the
latter, dropping back and racing for the forest in great, joyous bounds
punctuated with happy little whoops of undefinable emotion.
At last only one, chesty little male was left. Benson exhaled heavily
beside me. "It's the little fellow we saw on the beach, Sam. Look, he's
coming through."
A tawny stripe of brown, furry hair ran from his high forehead, over the
crown of his proud skull and down his neck to fade into the typical,
deep, golden fuzz of his body. As he approached the ramp I saw that his
face was smooth, entirely free of hair as though clean-shaven.
By now Benson was as fascinated as the rest of us. I stepped down in
front of him to confront our visitor. I placed a hand on my chest and
said, "Sam Rogers!"
The dark eyes swept from my feet to my head and fastened upon my face.
He pointed four long fingers at me and repeated distinctly, "Samrogers."
My name is easy to pronounce, but it was a shock to hear it from the
lips of an extra-terrestrial being.
Then he placed the same hand on his own chest and said, "Joe!" Actually,
it came out with a rapid widening and narrowing of his lips that sounded
like a quick version of, "Jo-ah-o-ah-oh," but the vowel echoes were so
rapid that for practical purposes it read, "Joe," to me.
I pointed my hand at him and repeated, "Joe!" He looked vaguely
disappointed at my crude aspiratory control, but then a bright smile
creased his cocky little face. His hand flicked out and back.
"Samrogers--Joe."
Involuntarily I nodded my head. He nodded back and smiled again. Before
I could think of what comes after, "Dr. Livingstone, I presume," he
wrinkled his nose, squinted his eyes, whirled and darted off for the
timber.
We stood rooted for a minute, then Bailey said, "We must really stink.
Plucky little fellow took it as long as he could."