voyage across many miles of space, we are finally here on Zade, prepared to present our program. You now make your pessimistic enunciations, and apparently envision us reeling back in doubt and dismay, abandoning all our plans and returning to Earth.”
“Madame, you misunderstand me,” sputtered Litchley. “I merely hoped to present a realistic picture, in order that you should have no reason to reproach me later for irresponsibility. The peoples of Zade, while intelligent, are rather narrow in their perspective, and some are both uncertain and unreliable, and even volatile.”
“Very well; you have made your point. Now let us examine the maps which I see you have brought.”
Darwin Litchley gave a stiff nod, unfolded a Mercator projection of the single continent. “We are here.” He indicated a point to the south and east. “Mr. Cam probably described the extreme diversity of the local aborigines, and I believe he recommended that you visit the Striads, the Water-folk and the Mental Warriors. I might have made other recommendations, but be that as it may. The Striads of the Tercera Zone —” he tapped the map “— are perhaps as good as any to visit first, and undoubtedly they are a picturesque folk.”
While the Phoebus slid majestically across the black, orange and lime-green rain-forest, Darwin Litchley gave a brief description of the Striads.
“The folk of this planet are biologically more flexible than the people of Earth, for while all are of the same basic stock, the physical, as well as the psychological variations among them are quite extreme. The Striads, for instance, have adapted remarkably to their special circumstances. The Tercera Zone is a region of considerable volcanic activity; there are extensive hot springs and puddles of boiling mud, which the Striads use to build their castles. They are a mild people, and highly expert in the use of sound, which they project from an organ unique to them.”
Ahead the rain-forest dwindled to a parkland of black bamboo-like trees and great balls of orange fluff. In the distance a line of gray mountains raised into the sky, and Darwin Litchley indicated a drift of floating mist. “That’s the thermal area. Look close and you’ll see the Striad cities rising out of the steam.”
A few minutes later the tall fortress-like dwellings of the Striads could be seen: heavy-walled buildings of six or seven stories constructed of colored mud.
On a flat field in front of the city the Phoebus landed. Immediately a group of several dozen Striads stepped forth from an iron gate. Darwin Litchley, with Dame Isabel, Bernard Bickel and Roger, alighted and waited for the approach of the Striads.
They were definitely a humanoid race, tall, thin in arms and legs, but with massive ridged chests. The skins were copper-red with a glossy green sheen; the heads were tall and thin and covered with a black feathery growth; they wore shirts of coarse cloth, bronze shoulder ornaments, leaving the massive chest and the ridged shallow pit of their sound-diaphragm bare. Halting a few yards from the ship they stood rigid. Their diaphragms contracted, jerked, to emit a single soft explosion of ceremonial greeting.
Darwin Litchley spoke in a harsh language which seemed all fricatives and throat-clearings; the Striads replied after a brief consultation among themselves.
Litchley turned to Dame Isabel. “They will be happy to attend a musical performance. I must say I’m rather surprised. They’re quite shy, and they’ve seen very few Earth people — half a dozen commercial missions, perhaps. When do you wish to stage your first performance?”
“Is tomorrow too soon?”
Darwin Litchley made the inquiry, then informed Dame Isabel that the time she had specified was quite suitable. Meanwhile the Earth folk were made welcome to the city. Litchley indicated a few simple taboos which should be observed: no entry into the buildings, no objects tossed into the thermal springs, no
“Madame, you misunderstand me,” sputtered Litchley. “I merely hoped to present a realistic picture, in order that you should have no reason to reproach me later for irresponsibility. The peoples of Zade, while intelligent, are rather narrow in their perspective, and some are both uncertain and unreliable, and even volatile.”
“Very well; you have made your point. Now let us examine the maps which I see you have brought.”
Darwin Litchley gave a stiff nod, unfolded a Mercator projection of the single continent. “We are here.” He indicated a point to the south and east. “Mr. Cam probably described the extreme diversity of the local aborigines, and I believe he recommended that you visit the Striads, the Water-folk and the Mental Warriors. I might have made other recommendations, but be that as it may. The Striads of the Tercera Zone —” he tapped the map “— are perhaps as good as any to visit first, and undoubtedly they are a picturesque folk.”
While the Phoebus slid majestically across the black, orange and lime-green rain-forest, Darwin Litchley gave a brief description of the Striads.
“The folk of this planet are biologically more flexible than the people of Earth, for while all are of the same basic stock, the physical, as well as the psychological variations among them are quite extreme. The Striads, for instance, have adapted remarkably to their special circumstances. The Tercera Zone is a region of considerable volcanic activity; there are extensive hot springs and puddles of boiling mud, which the Striads use to build their castles. They are a mild people, and highly expert in the use of sound, which they project from an organ unique to them.”
Ahead the rain-forest dwindled to a parkland of black bamboo-like trees and great balls of orange fluff. In the distance a line of gray mountains raised into the sky, and Darwin Litchley indicated a drift of floating mist. “That’s the thermal area. Look close and you’ll see the Striad cities rising out of the steam.”
A few minutes later the tall fortress-like dwellings of the Striads could be seen: heavy-walled buildings of six or seven stories constructed of colored mud.
On a flat field in front of the city the Phoebus landed. Immediately a group of several dozen Striads stepped forth from an iron gate. Darwin Litchley, with Dame Isabel, Bernard Bickel and Roger, alighted and waited for the approach of the Striads.
They were definitely a humanoid race, tall, thin in arms and legs, but with massive ridged chests. The skins were copper-red with a glossy green sheen; the heads were tall and thin and covered with a black feathery growth; they wore shirts of coarse cloth, bronze shoulder ornaments, leaving the massive chest and the ridged shallow pit of their sound-diaphragm bare. Halting a few yards from the ship they stood rigid. Their diaphragms contracted, jerked, to emit a single soft explosion of ceremonial greeting.
Darwin Litchley spoke in a harsh language which seemed all fricatives and throat-clearings; the Striads replied after a brief consultation among themselves.
Litchley turned to Dame Isabel. “They will be happy to attend a musical performance. I must say I’m rather surprised. They’re quite shy, and they’ve seen very few Earth people — half a dozen commercial missions, perhaps. When do you wish to stage your first performance?”
“Is tomorrow too soon?”
Darwin Litchley made the inquiry, then informed Dame Isabel that the time she had specified was quite suitable. Meanwhile the Earth folk were made welcome to the city. Litchley indicated a few simple taboos which should be observed: no entry into the buildings, no objects tossed into the thermal springs, no
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