Three of the gnorphs stepped out of the ranks, and the middle alien stepped forward, flanked slightly to the rear by his companions. He spoke in a harsh, guttural voice.

The converter rendered it as “What do you want here?”

Mawley was prepared for the question. “Friendship. Peace. Mutual happiness of our worlds.”

“Where are you from?”

Mawley gestured to the sky. “Far away, beyond the sky. Beyond the stars. Much distance.”

The gnorph looked skeptical. “How many days’ sailing from here?”

“Many days. Many, many days.”

“Then why come to us?”

“To establish friendship,” said Mawley. “To build a bond between your world and ours.”

At that, the alien did an abrupt about-face and conferred with his two companions. Harskin kept an eye on the spears twitching in the alien hands.

The conference seemed to be prolonging itself indefinitely. Mawley glanced back at Harskin as if to ask what he should do next, but the shipmaster merely smiled in approval and encouragement.

Finally the aliens broke up their huddle and the lead man turned back to the Terrans. “We think you should leave us,” he grunted. “Go. At once.”

There was nothing in Mawley’s instructions to cover this. The contact technician opened and closed his mouth a few times without speaking. Gravely, the aliens turned and marched away, leaving the Terrans alone.

First Contact had been achieved.

“This has to be done in a very careful way,” Harskin said. “Any news from the Rigelians?”

“They’re situated about eight miles from here,” Snollgren said.