Orne braked to a creaking stop that shifted the load behind him, found himself staring through the windshield at a native of Gienah III. The native crouched on the hood, a Mark XX exploding-pellet rifle in his right hand directed at Orne’s head. In the abrupt shock of meeting, Orne recognized the weapon: standard issue to the marine guards on all R&R survey ships.

The native appeared the twin of the one Orne had seen on the translite screen. The four-fingered hand looked extremely capable around the stock of the Mark XX.

Slowly, Orne put a hand to his throat, pressed the contact button. He moved his speaking muscles: “Just made contact with the mob. One on the hood now has one of our Mark XX rifles aimed at my head.”

The surf-hissing of Stetson’s voice came through the hidden speaker: “Want us to come back?”

“Negative. Stand by. He looks cautious rather than hostile.”

Orne held up his right hand, palm out. He had a second thought: held up his left hand, too. Universal symbol of peaceful intentions: empty hands. The gun muzzle lowered slightly. Orne called into his mind the language that had been hypnoforced into him. Ocheero? No. That means ‘The People.’ Ah ... And he had the heavy fricative greeting sound.

“Ffroiragrazzi,” he said.

The native shifted to the left, answered in pure, unaccented High Galactese: “Who are you?”

[109]

[109]

Orne fought down a sudden panic. The lipless mouth had looked so odd forming the familiar words.

Stetson’s voice hissed: “Is that the native speaking Galactese?”

Orne touched his throat. “You heard him.”

He dropped his hand, said: “I am Lewis Orne of Rediscovery and Reeducation. I was sent here at the request of the First-Contact officer on the Delphinus Rediscovery.”

“Where is your ship?” demanded the Gienahn.

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