The Winship hung low, now, barely above the thirty-foot stalks of gannygrass. A Ganymedian peered up, bracing himself against the landing-cushion field, which transferred the weight of the ship to the ground below and very neatly contracted as the little ship descended.

"True enough," admitted Joe, "but brass says we must cultivate cordial relations. Tip off the hands, Dick. We'll touch, now."

Gannygrass stems sprang up alongside the ship's ports as the landing-cushion field contracted and stayed pointed straight down. The descending motion ceased without a jar. The Winship rested on the yielding, matted roots which were the soil of Ganymede where it wasn't swamp. Joe flicked switches and the ship was grounded.

"We won't be here long," he observed. "They'll come for the swamp-car and they don't go in for the amenities, so we'll be off again pretty soon. You tip the hands about how to talk while I remember not to smile when I try to act pleasant. To them, a smile is an expression of rage just before it turns to murder."

He put on a light atmosphere-suit and went out the lock.

There were a good many Ganymedians on hand. From overhead, the innumerable clumps of grass had seemed without life. Gannygrass grew thirty feet high in semi-floating islands that were roughly two hundred feet across. In between the clumps was swamp. The Ganymedians lived in what amounted to burrows in their floating islands, and progressed from one grass patch to another in queer, skittering hops startlingly like the running steps of a heavy bird just about to take off upwind.

They had a civilization of sorts, but nobody could gather more than minor information about it. Questioned, they either answered exactly and literally, or else ignored the questioner. They had no manners at all by earth standards, and their morals were not matters of interest to anybody who had ever seen a Ganymedian female.

Ordinarily there would be one family group to a grass-clump, and one grass-clump to a family group. Here, though, there were very many on hand as Joe went out the lock. Their numbers increased momently. From overhead they had been nearly invisible, but they must have begun to move toward the Winship's landing-place as soon as it could be identified. Joe saw at least a dozen wearing the belts of swamp-bear claws which were signs of chiefhood.

He remembered not to smile politely.

 Prev. P 3/13 next