ous enough to carry any burden.

"I've been pretty proud of myself," he said. "After five years of
daily attempts, and after using everything I ever learned in school
courses on extraterrestrial psychology, plus some things I've made up
myself, I established a kind of communication with the natives--if you
could call it communication. I'd go out in my spacesuit into their
chlorinated atmosphere, I'd stand in front of one of them and talk a
blue streak, think a blue streak. After about five years of it, one of
them slowly closed his eye and then opened it again. I invited one of
them to come inside the bubble. I told him about the difference in
atmosphere, that it might be dangerous. I got one of them to come in.
It made no difference to him."

"Well, fine, then," I said. "Just get some of them to come in again,
let Aunt Mattie put some clothes on them, and everybody's happy."

He stood up suddenly.

"Take a walk with me, Hap," he said. It was more of a command than an
invitation. "Over to the edge of the bubble. I want to show you some
natives."

I was willing.

On the way around to the back of the building, over the crunching
salt, I had a thought.

"If all he did was close an eye," I said. "How did you learn their
language, so you could invite him inside, explain about the
atmosphere?"

"I don't even know they have a language," he said. "Maybe he learned
mine. I used to draw pictures in the salt, the way they taught us at
school, and say words. Maybe it took him five years to put the
thoughts together, maybe they don't have any concept of language at
all, or need it. Maybe he was thinking about something else all those
five years, and just got around to noticing me. I don't know, Hap."

We came around the edge of an outbuilding then to an unobstructed view
of the bubble edge. Even through dark glasses he'd cautioned me to
wear with a gesture, as he put on another pair for himself, the scene
through the clear plastic was blinding white. Scattered here and there
on the glistening salt were blobs of black.

"Why," I exclaimed. "Those are octopi. I suppose that's what the
natives use for food? I've wondered."

"Those _are_ the natives," he answered, drily.

By now we were up to the plastic barrier of our bubble and stood
looking out at the scene.

"Well," I said after some long moments of staring. "It will be a
challenge to the D.T.'s, won't it?"

He looked at me with disgust.

"What do they eat?" I a