"We were breathing it for a week, and no trouble. It's pretty rich in
oxygen--twenty-four percent. Gives you a bouncy feeling--just right for
pioneers, I'd say."
"You've prepared a full report on this place, haven't you?"
"Of course. It's right here." McLeod started to reach for his briefcase.
"Not just yet," Walton said. "I want to go through the rest of these
snapshots." He turned over one after another rapidly until he came to
a photo that showed a strange blocky figure, four-armed, bright green
in color. Its neckless head was encased in a sort of breathing mask
fashioned from some transparent plastic. Three cold, brooding eyes
peered outward.
"What's this?" Walton asked.
"Oh, that." McLeod attempted a cheerful grin. "That's a Dirnan. They
live on Procyon IX, one of the ammonia-giant planets. They're the
aliens who don't want us there."