its
beginnings outside the known universe. The blue trees hinted at that.
The crimson ruins told me that clearly. The atmospheric
conditions--the fog, the warmth high up in the Cordilleras--were
certainly not natural. Yet I thought the explanation lay in some
geological warp, volcanic activity, subterranean gas-vents....

My vision reached a half-mile, no farther. As I went on, the misty
horizon receded. The valley was larger than I had imagined. It was
like Elysium, where the shades of dead men stroll in the Garden of
Proserpine. Streamlets ran through the blue moss at intervals, chill
as death from the snowy plains hidden in the fog. "A sleepy world of
streams...."

The ruins altered in appearance as I went on. The red blocks were
still present, but there were now also remnants of other structures,
made by a different culture, I thought.

The blue trees grew more numerous. Leafy vines covered most of them
now, saffron-tinted, making each strange tree a little room, screened
by the lattice of the vines. As I passed close to one a faint clicking
sounded, incongruously like the tapping of typewriter keys, but
muffled. I saw movement and turned, my hand going to the pistol in my
belt.

The Thing came out of a tree-hut and halted, watching me. I _felt_ it
watching me--though _it had no eyes_!

It was a sphere of what seemed to be translucent plastic, glowing with
shifting rainbow colors. And I sensed sentience--intelligence--in its
horribly human attitude of watchful hesitation. Four feet in diameter
it was, and featureless save for three ivory elastic tentacles that
supported it and a fringe of long, whip-like cilia about its
diameter--its waist, I thought.

It looked at me, eyeless and cryptic. The shifting colors crawled over
the plastic globe. Then it began to roll forward on the three
supporting tentacles with a queer, swift gliding motion. I stepped
back, jerking out my gun and leveling it.

"Stop," I said, my voice shrill. "Stop!"

It stopped, quite as though it understood my words or the gesture of
menace. The cilia fluttered about its spherical body. Bands of lambent
color flashed. I could not rid myself of the curious certainty, that
it was trying to communicate with me.

Abruptly it came forward again purposefully. I tensed and stepped
back, holding the gun aimed. My finger was tightening on the trigger
when the Thing stopped.

I backed off, nervously tense, but the creature did not follow. After