'The alarm, we are over the target area. I'll take control of the ship and land it… '
'And as soon as we touch down I'm in charge.'
'You're in charge.' It sounded very much like a sigh the way DeWitt said it and he wondered again if there could be any sense to this plan.
Though DeWitt was theoretically flying the ship, he did little more than point to a spot and tell the computer to land on it. It was the computer that monitored the approach, measuring the multiple forces involved, cancelling them precisely with, blasts from the jets. Once the final descent began all DeWitt did was watch the ground below to be sure none of the natives would be caught by the landing. The instant they touched down safely and the roar of the engines died away Briggs was on his feet.
'Let's go, let's go,' he ordered in his strident voice. 'Grab that box of trade supplies and I'll show you how to get Zarevsld away from the creeps.'
DeWitt made no comment nor did he show his feelings in any way. He simply put the strap of the heavy box over his shoulder and struggled the weight of it towards the airlock. While the lock was cycling them out he zipped up the front of his heated coverall and turned on the power. When the outer door cracked open a keening wind thrust a handful of brown and strangely shaped leaves into the compartment, bringing with it the pungent, alien smell of the planet. As soon as it had opened wide enough Briggs pushed through and jumped to the ground. He turned slowly in a complete circle, gun ready in his hand, before grunting with satisfaction and shoving it back into the holster.
'You can come down now, DeWitt. None of them in sight.'
He made no attempt to help the smaller man, only grinning with barely concealed contempt as DeWitt lowered the box by its strap, then jumped down clumsily after it.
'Now let's go get Zarevski,' Briggs said, and stamped away towards the village. DeWitt trailed after.
Because he had twisted sideways to straighten the strap over his shoulder, DeWitt caught sight of the three natives a moment before Briggs did. They appeared suddenly from a stand of yew-like trees and stared at the new arrivals. Briggs, who was constantly turning his head to watch on all sides, saw them a moment later. He wheeled, dropped, drawing his gun at the same time, and when he was lying flat on the ground he pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. The natives dropped just then.
DeWitt didn't move, though he hid to control a sudden shiver that trembled his body. From his belt hung a small metal box with control studs on its surface; it looked like a radio-intercom, but it wasn't. He had his finger pressed on one of the buttons, and he didn't let up until Briggs had stopped pulling the trigger and began to examine the gun with horrified eyes.
'It didn't go off But why?'
'Probably the cold. Contracted the parts,' DeWitt said hurriedly glancing from the prone man to the natives who were slowly climbing to their feet. 'I'm sure it will be all right the next time you need it. And it was a good thing that you didn't shoot. They weren't attacking, or trying to get close to us, just looking.'
'They better not try any funny business with me,' Briggs said, climbing to his feet and holstering his gun, though keeping his hand on the butt. 'They're ugly ones, aren't they?'
By any human standards the aborigines of planet D2-593-4 could not have been called attractive. They resembled men only in rough outline of body, head, and paired arms and legs on a thin torso. Their skin appeared to be covered with hairy scales: fish-like brown scales the size of a man's hand whose lower edge shredded into a fringe of furlike substance. Either they were moulting, or the random nature of scale arrangement was natural, because here and there on the bodies of all of them patches of scales were missing and areas of raw looking, orange skin shone through. They wore no clothes, only strings supporting containers and crude weapons, and the scales continued irregularly over all parts of their bodies. Their heads were perhaps their most repulsive aspect, covered with slashed and wrinkled orange skin. Both men knew that quivering slashes covered olfactory and auditory organs, yet the resemblance to mortal knife wounds was still disconcerting. The tiny eyes peered malevolently from another transverse slit situated near the top of the skull. DeWitt had spent more than a terran year on this planet and still found the sight of them repellent.
'Tell them not to come any closer,' Briggs ordered. He seemed unperturbed by their appearance.
'Stop where you are,' DeWitt said in their language.
They stopped instantly and the one on the right, with the most weapons, hissed through a mouth slit. 'You speak our language.'
DeWitt started to answer, then restrained himself. It was a statement, not a question, and he was under strict orders to volunteer nothing. He was to act as much like a translating machine as possible since this was Briggs' show. Before he could translate the opening remark, the native went on.
'How is it that you speak our language? Does this other one talk too?'
'What is it jabbering about?' Briggs demanded, and snorted in anger when DeWitt had translated. 'Just tell him that your job is translating and I got no time to waste on that kind of stuff, and tell them we want Zarevski.'
This was a test of theory, and DeWitt took a deep breath before he answered. He put an effort into attempting to translate as exactly as possible and was surprised when they took no umbrage at the insulting tone of the words, in face even bobbed their heads from side to side slightly in the local gesture of agreement.
'Where did you learn our language?' The leader asked DeWitt, who translated the question for Briggs before he answered.
'On this planet. I was here with the first expedition*
Briggs was laughing. 'I bet they didn't recognize you, probably think all humans look alike — bet they even think we are ugly!' The smile vanished as quickly as it had arrived. 'Stop the horsing around. We came for Zarevski and that's all we care about. Tell them that.'
DeWitt did, having difficulty only with "horsing around' though he managed to get the meaning across.
'Come with me,' the leader said turning and walking towards the village. His companions went with him, but Briggs put a restraining hand on DeWitt's shoulder.
'Let them get a bit ahead, I want to keep my eyes open for any tricks. And we don't want to do just what he says or he'll think he can push us around. All right, we can go now.'
At a respectable distance, as though they just happened to be strolling in the same direction by coincidence, the two parties straggled into the village. None of the inhabitants were in sight, though smoke rose from holes at the peak of most of the angled wattle and daub houses. The sensation of unseen eyes watching from their deep interiors was intense.
'In there,' the alien called back over his shoulder, at the same time jerking his many-fingered hand at a building no different than all the others.
The aliens kept walking on, without looking back, and Briggs stopped, quizzically watching «:hem go. Only when they were out of sight did he turn and suspiciously examine the indicated building. It was perhaps five metres tall at the ridgepole and slanted straight to the ground on both sides. Narrow slits of windows let a certain amount of light into it, and the flat front was pierced by a doorway the size and shape of an open coffin. It must have looked that way to DeWitt too, because his nose almost twitched with intensity as he examined the black opening.