He waited and waited as no thought-fingers came to touch him. At last he relaxed, grunted his satisfaction and scorn. Foolish of him to worry. On his world, any unidentified ship approaching within two light years of their sun would be detected and destroyed without hesitation or mercy. No such technology here, and even if the stupid cattle- people who lived here had seen his ship, they wouldn’t believe it. The alien stretched back against the couch, allowing his long, tight muscles to relax. Scouts had landed here a dozen times before, and always the reports were the same: the natives thought ships such as his were a delusion, figments of their own imaginations! No, there would be no problem here when his work was finished and the full-scale invasion began. Already the preliminary studies were completed, the plans worked out in the finest detail; and then, soon, his people would be rich with food and slaves once again, and he would even be allowed to touch the robe of the leader himself! He gloated in anticipation. There was no possible flaw, no way these dull, cowering Man-things could detect or hinder the secret, silent invasion that would come, except for one thing—
The thing he was here, alone, to evaluate.
A people without psi-presence were helpless to defend themselves against a race of powerful telepaths such as his. They would not even know they were being invaded until they were overwhelmed. This planet was a primitive world, indeed, with a ludicrously primitive people, but some few of them had psi-presence already developing. Crude, rudimentary, feeble, but just possibly enough to throw invasion plans awry.
That was what the alien had to find opt: how much, how strong, the power to enter other minds might be, in these people. For psi-presence could detect other psi-presence, always, anywhere, despite any disguise. The alien knew that. It was the one universal denominator in all the ages of conquest, plundering and enslavement that had made his people the cruel masters of half a galaxy. Before they dared to come in force, they must know the strength of the psi-presence on this world, the one weapon that could possibly defeat them.
The alien moved, finally, beginning his preparations. In the center of the cabin an image flickered, swarming flecks of light and shadow that filled out a three-dimensional form, a complete and detailed model of one of the Man-things that populated this planet. The alien sat down and studied the image carefully through hooded yellow eyes. There must be no mistake, not here, not now. The scouts had been here and returned, bringing back the necessary data and a dozen or more specimens of the Man-things that lived long enough for the laboratories to dissect their minds and bodies and work out satisfactory models for disguise. Now as he stared at the image, studying the bone structure and muscle contour, the alien marveled at the skill of the lab stuff—an almost perfect replica! Slowly, following the model, he began to work with die plastiflesh, molding the sharp angles of his members into puffy Man-like curves, skillfully laying the folds of skin, forming muscle bulges and jointed fingers, always studying the image of the strange, clumsy creature flickering in the cabin before him.
The image of a Man. That was what they called themselves. There were many of them, and somewhere among them there was psi-presence, feeble and underdeveloped, but there, somewhere. He eyed the image again, and pressed a stud on the control panel. Another image met his eyes, an electronic reflection of himself. He studied it, then carefully superimposed the two, adding contours here and there, quick eyes seeking out imperfections as he worked. There must be no mistake. He knew what failure would mean for him—the ultimate disgrace and then slow, painful death by dissociation and destruction of his psi-power neuron by neuron. The leader did not tolerate failures.
At last, satisfied, he stared again at the image, and then at himself. Not quite right—the skin tone was wrong, the yellow came through too clearly in places, and the scouts had reported that that color seemed to carry unpleasant connotations in this culture, for some reason. Any shade of sickly pink, shading into brown and on to black, was fine. He worked more brownish-pink pigment into his soft, wrinkle- free skin, then further molded out the cheeks and forehead. Hair would be a problem of course, but then there would be many small imperfections. He smiled grimly to himself. No problem there—in dealing with these stupid minds, there would be other ways to mask imperfections.
Finally the task was done. He had no way to bring a reddish color into his pale green lips, nor to create the myriad wrinkles and creases that criss-crossed the skin of the Man- things, but with his psi-power it did not matter, he would simply project those things into their minds. Rising, the alien struggled into the tight, restricting clothes that lay in a bundle, carefully folded and pressed, at his feet. The boardlike shoes cut into his flesh—he had nothing to correspond to a moveable human ankle—and the hairy fabric of the red-and-white checked skirt made him writhe in discomfort, but once outside the ship he was glad for the warmth. He stepped out onto the ground, and listened again, carefully. Then he made certain arrangements with wires, and threw a switch on a small black panel near the entry port, and began walking stiffly down the hill away from the- ship.
He would no longer need the ship. Not now.
It was quite dark. The underbrush grew thicker, and he fought his way through the scrub until he reached a roadway. It was not even paved—incredible I To think some of the scouts had feared such simple, primitive barbarians might actually attempt to oppose them! Yet the reports insisted that far to the east there were great stone and steel cities, the places-of-madness, the scouts had called them. Well, perhaps. He certainly saw no stone or steel, only dust and the ruts of wagon wheels. He was aware only of darkness, and a light wind coming up, and the howling of some night beast somewhere over the hill.
The alien trudged on for almost an hour, trying to acclimate his legs to the fierce tug of gravity that pulled at him. And then he stopped short, and listened . . . .
He heard them, then, in the depths of his mind, somewhere very near on the other side of the hill—two Man-things, beyond doubt. No psi-presence there, but at least a contact, perhaps weak and isolated enough to be killed for food. Other mental whispers, too—dull, stupid, vagrant half-thoughts flickering through his mind. Lower life forms, no doubt. Possibly this was a farm, with work animals. The scouts had said there were such. He turned off the road, and almost cried out when the sharp barbs of a fence cut through his tender skin. A trickle of green dripped down his arm, until he rubbed a poultice across it, and it became smooth and sickly pink again. In a burst of rage he pulled the fence out, post and all, and left it on the ground, moving through the woods in the direction of the Man-things he had heard.
Soon the woods ended and he saw the dwelling across a broad clearing. Black dirt lay open in the moonlight. He started across. There was light inside the dwelling, and the dull, babbling flow of uncontrolled Man-thought struck his mind like a vapor. There were other buildings, too—dark buildings, and one tall one with a spoked wheel on top that creaked and rustled in the darkness.
He had almost reached the dwelling when a small, four- legged creature leaped out of the darkness at him, crying out in a horrible discordant barrage. The creature came running swiftly, and the alien’s mind caught the sharp whine, of fear and hate emanating from the thing. It stopped before him, baring its fangs and snarling. The alien lashed his foot out savagely; it crunched into flesh and bone, and the creature lay flopping helplessly, spurting dark wet stuff, its cry cut off in mid-yelp. The alien stepped onto the porch as the door opened, suddenly, framing a tall,thin Man-thing in a box of yellow light. “Brownie?” a voice called. “Come here, Brownie! What’s the matter—” His words trailed off as he saw the alien. “Who are you?”