WELCOME, STRANGERS!

Originally published in Astounding Science Fiction, August 1954.

The monster considered Radigan with what may have been an expression.

If so, it was undoubtedly an expression comparable to a humanoid sneer. The Terran, peering through the light filters of his space helmet, could not yet decide.

Having only a few seconds before tumbled into an unsuspected pit in the narrow cave he had been exploring, Radigan was still engaged in gathering his wits. The sudden brightness about him which had caused the filters to flip down before his eyes automatically only deepened his confusion. Any sort of intelligent life was the last thing he expected to stumble across in the bleak, eroded hills of this little planet of Procyon.

“Can you understand me, Terran?” inquired the monster, as the light dimmed somewhat.

Though the tone was level and only blurrily expressive, Radigan sensed an undercurrent of resigned disgust. From his position on hands and knees amid the rubble of his fall, he stared back searchingly.

The thing looked as if it would be taller than a man if it rose on its four multi-jointed legs. In general build, it suggested a burly, gray toad with an impatient disposition and a disproportionately small, round head. Upon the latter grew a bristling, reddish mat which seemed to have been brushed away with some care from what must be the creature’s “face.”

The eyes were what bothered the spaceman most. A trio set in a shallow, down-pointing triangle, they were large, opaquely black, and constantly flickering with short, nervous motions. Radigan felt as if they could X-ray him. In hue, they were blacker than the creature’s gleaming harness and tunic.

He shook his head to clear it of an almost hypnotic haziness.

It’s not the eyes, he tried to assure himself. Just the shock of the fall. Wonder if I broke anything?

Inside the spacesuit he wore on the thin-aired planet more for comfort than need, it was difficult to be sure of possible sprains and bruises, but he decided that his body still functioned without noticeable damage.

“Yes… I can understand you,” he answered belatedly, still feeling that the whole incident might be unreal.

A fleeting memory of someone telling an old joke nudged at the fringes of his mind: …Figured it couldn’t be a real Venusian mud-snake, ’cause if it was, I’da been scared spitless―an’ then I noticed my knees was rattlin’ inside my spacesuit like drumsticks, so I turned around an’―”

“You’re…you are real, aren’t you!” Radigan conceded before the monster could speak again.

The thing continued to scan him in triplicate.

“In the sense of actually existing in the same time and approximately the same place as yourself,” it replied, “yes. That is to say, you are really within my force cyst.”

It scanned Radigan further, and as if to make matters perfectly clear, added, “In other expressions, I am not to you a projected image, nor do I exist merely in your thinking organ. I live and move, as you should be able to observe, by the amount of light vibrations I have attuned the field to produce. Enough, I think, to satisfy your method of perception?”

Radigan thought about that as he slowly rolled sidewards to his haunches and braced himself with one gauntleted hand resting on the curving bottom of the hole he shared with the monster. The surface felt hard and slick, although it flickered with varicolored pinpoints of light.

“Yes,” he admitted, “I can see you fine. What are you?”

“You may call me Rygeef. My home is on the planet Khonyl, of which you probably have not heard. In purpose, I compare to yourself, though traveling by somewhat different means. You are a…what is the term in your mind?…a Terran?”

Radigan glared.

“Do not be annoyed,” advised the monster. “Of course, I did not intend to pry. I believed you were projecting to me. Many races do communicate that way, you know. How else should I manage even so little of your speech code?”

“How did I get in here?” demanded Radigan aloud, seeking with all his mental might to obscure the half-formed thought of the gun at his hip. “Now that I look up, the hole I fell through seems to be closed up.”

“That may require some explaining to you,” mused Rygeef.

It shifted its grayish bulk slightly. The roving eyes relieved Radigan’s person of their almost hypnotic scrutiny, appearing to focus upon something beyond the fluorescing wall of force. The Terran seized the respite to examine his surroundings in more detail.

He estimated the cell-like chamber to be ten feet or less across. His back was against one side while Rygeef squatted bulkily on the up-curving slope opposite. Now that Radigan had time to look more closely, he noticed a black cube with rounded corners beside the monster’s right legs. One of the creature’s members, in fact, was in position to manipulate the multitude of tiny studs projecting from one face of the cube. The Terran concluded that whatever caused the flickering light was controlled from the black cube.

“I think,” said the monster, “that there are among your kind such as make it their affair to find out things?”

Radigan decided that the tone could be construed as a question.

“Find out things?” he repeated. “You mean researchers? Scientists? Or space explorers, like me?”

“Yes. I perceived a few moments ago a thought of exploring a cave on a strange planet, just as I opened a slot in the force cyst to observe. You and the thought came through together, to my surprise.”

“To mine, too!” muttered Radigan.

“Uh…zzzzz…yes. Like you, I am of those who explore. I thought myself in the nearness of a certain star, but my estimation was in a small degree mistaken. I returned to normal space in coincidence with one of the planets, and the thin sheet of force through which I observe did not exclude your body.”

Radigan pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.

“You mean,” he said, “that I just happened to be at the right spot when you let down the barrier a bit?”

“A curiosity,” agreed the monster. “But then, most accidents are curious. If I strike a planet, is it more remarkable that I strike a being on that planet?”

“Well…how would I know?” retorted Radigan, not, he thought, unreasonably.

He wondered about the means of travel that could be so compact, and operate with no apparent provision for storage or equipment space. Possibly, he told himself, this Rygeef did not require frequent food or drink. Perhaps it did not even breathe.

“You seem to be thinking of me as if I am a freak!” declared the monster.

The Terran tried frantically to scramble his thoughts.

“I didn’t mean it that way at all!” he protested. “I was just wondering how fast and how far you can go in this thing.”

“How fast? Almost instantly. I see I should say ‘instantaneously.’ Like the speed of thought. As to how far, I could not answer. The device is not to us long known. I am an explorer, an experiment.”

“Oh,” said Radigan. “Say, my friends would be interested in meeting you! How about coming back to my ship? Can you bring your…your force cyst along?”

“It would be easier to let it take me,” replied Rygeef, “if I could spare time to go.”

“If you could―What do you mean? What’s the rush?”

“To begin with, I must slide out of here and return to normal space at an empty position, since I suspect you will be unable to supply me with spectrum data and other information of this star, that I could identify my location.”

“Back at the ship―” began Radigan uneasily.

“No, no. Out of memory, or I can not wait. You can?”

“We…we call it Procyon,” stammered Radigan, realizing that he sounded a perfect moron. “It’s…it’s very bright. Look here―what about me if you have to beat it? What happens?”

The monster’s three jet eyes scanned him curiously before he answered.

“I am unable to conclude,” Rygeef answered. “If there has been no shift of position since you entered the force cyst, you will find yourself in the cave as before.”

“And if things shifted a little?”

“Possibly a severe explosion when you return to normal space already used by the rock of the planet. Of course, if the shift is far enough to move us entirely outside the planet and its atmosphere―”

The somewhat droning voice faded to the background of Radigan’s attention.

It sure takes my explosion calmly, thought the Terran. One thing’s sure―I better do something quick, before it gets set to toss me out, or I’ll never see Terra again. I won’t even―

Abandoning thought to an instinct for brute action, Radigan launched himself from his crouch at the bulky gray being opposite him. His left hand darted out in a desperate swipe at the black control cube.

“Be careful!” bawled Rygeef, raising its voice to a harsh rasp.

It reared up to meet Radigan’s assault, flicking one of its many-jointed front legs at the Terran’s head. The blow smacked like a whip across the man’s hastily raised forearm, but Radigan was protected by his spacesuit. He thudded into the monster, causing a tremendous whoosh which revealed that Rygeef did, indeed, breathe―if nothing else.

Skidding off the curving barrier, they separated. Radigan felt himself falling, and twisted to his left to grab at the cube. The only thing in his mind was to save himself a slim chance of getting home alive.

He backhanded a scrabbling, three-digited limb that groped over his shoulder.

“I don’t care about being careful!” he snarled. “You be careful―I figure to get back to Terra in one piece!”

He felt the weight of the cube through the thickness of his gauntlet, and clutched it tightly.

Radigan’s stomach seemed to drop out for an instant. Such a wave of dizziness overwhelmed him that he suspected the monster of having landed a crushing rabbit punch below the heavy rim of his helmet mounting.

Even as he was wondering how he came to be sprawled on his hands and knees, he became aware of an indefinable change in the flickering of the walls.

“Now you have ruined us!” buzzed Rygeef accusingly. “Give the cube to me before you more damage do!”

Radigan glanced down at the object clenched in his left gauntlet. He relaxed the fingers which held down several of the tiny studs.

“Cease your attempts!” ordered the monster. “The jump is accomplished. I hope you have memory of where you thought in the instant of shift.”

“I think,” said Radigan. “Where I thought―?”

“How else could one control such a far-ranging method of shifting location outside normal space?” demanded Rygeef. Its voice was rising angrily to a volume Radigan had not supposed it capable of achieving. “Now give me the control, you ignorant savage, before you cause the death of us!”

“Just a minute!” Radigan held up his hand, then relaxed enough to sit down. “The first thing, if we really moved, is to find out where. Right? Well, you tell me how, and I’ll do it. That way, we can both stay calm, eh?”

Rygeef sputtered and rumbled through an astonishing series of choking noises. Three oval sacs about the circumference of its round head puffed out to an alarming degree, suggesting more than ever the proportions of a gigantic toad. In the end, the monster yielded to the Terran’s obvious determination. Folding its legs, it squatted in its old place.

“Take one of your tentacle ends―a sensitive one if you possess such―and place it where I tell you,” Rygeef directed. “That one will do, if you are at all skilled with it. Move it along the last row of studs…there! No, back one…that is correct. Now, when I tell you, press the stud gently…very gently…and at the same time think of a transparency in the shield. Think a narrow slit…not completely open…just transparent.”

“OK.”

“Press!”

The man depressed the stud very slightly. He concentrated upon the idea of a slot in the coruscating wall surrounding him, though not quite convinced of the sincerity of his guide.

Almost immediately, however, a stripe ten or twelve inches wide spread from top to bottom of the enclosure. It was as clear as glass, and Radigan caught a glimpse of something blue-green beyond. He stood up to press the curving front of his space helmet against the peephole.

“That’s Terra out there!” he gasped.

“Good! Excellent!” congratulated the monster sourly. “At least one of us knows where we are. That is something to cause gratitude in one.”

Radigan turned to face the other, conscious of a relieved perspiration forming upon his forehead.

“What next?” he asked.

“Which is the logical place on this planet to report our presence and seek help?” countered Rygeef. “Think of it, and we will do the process again―”

About fifteen minutes later―after Radigan’s concentration had slipped once or twice―they emerged again into normal space a few inches above one of the excessively neat lawns surrounding the capitol of Terra.

“Where is this?” inquired Rygeef, his three eyes busily scanning the huge but delicately curved dome.

“It’s on an artificial island, and built to symbolize our expansion into space,” answered Radigan absently.

He looked about for the nearest entrance.

“Let’s get out and try over there,” he suggested, pointing.

“Why emerge?” asked the monster. “It is easier to make invisible the force cyst and…how would you express it?…and wear it about us. I recommend that you hand to me the control.”

“You won’t―”

“How could I?” retorted Rygeef, with a spasm of his bulbous features that would do for a sneer. “I do not yet know my direction.”

Radigan shrugged and delivered up the black cube. The monster manipulated certain studs, and the shield of force became completely limpid.

“Just stand normally,” he advised Radigan, assuming, himself, the attitude of a pompous gargoyle. “I have set things to drift slowly up to those three individuals outside what I suspect to be an entrance to this hive.”

Radigan threw him an indignant look, but realized in time to save himself embarrassment that the “hive” analogy must have originated in his own thoughts. He stood up straight and faced the uniformed guards loitering at the foot of a short flight of marble steps.

This trio presently pivoted, one at a time, and trained their combined scrutiny upon Radigan and his bulky companion. The spaceman attempted a jaunty grin which was spoiled by an overpowering impulse to peep downward at the grass flowing past under his feet. With Rygeef, he slowed to a halt over the concrete walk leading to the steps.

“You apparently are produced in many colors,” commented the monster in Radigan’s ear. “One is almost black, one is a yellowish tan, and the third is beginning to turn red.”

“So I see,” murmured Radigan unhappily.

“Are you beings ranked by facial shades?”

“That’s a matter for debate,” whispered the spaceman. “Be quiet!”

“What debate, mister?” demanded the guard who, as Rygeef had noted, was turning pink. “Where do you think you’re going with that exhibit?”

“This is no exhibit,” said Radigan. “This is Mr. Rygeef, a citizen of…what was it?”

“Khonyl.”

“A citizen of Khonyl.”

“He look to me more like something to dry and make into powdered medicine,” commented the yellow-skinned guard. “We call sergeant, maybe?”

“Maybe. All right, you in the imitation spacesuit! If he’s from one of the known worlds, let him show his papers!”

“Papers?” echoed Radigan.

“Why should I carry that sort of record?” Rygeef injected into the awkward pause. “Here is my identification.”

From some recess in its metallic, gleaming harness, the creature produced an emerald disk about two inches in diameter. This was passed to Radigan, who held it out as far as he could without struggling against the invisible, temporarily resilient wall of force.

The three uniformed men craned forward to examine the object, none of them unwary enough to try touching it. The tall black man pulled his redfaced colleague back by the sleeve.

“What’s it supposed to be?” demanded the latter, retreating a pace.

“Upon the proper machine,” explained Rygeef, “this disk will reproduce a vocalized account of my identity and planet of origin. I fear perhaps you will not the language understand. I am happy to translate.”

The trio regarded the monster with cold, severe expressions. The yellow man allowed his hand to drop unobtrusively to his hip.

“Time the bunch of us had a little interview,” decided the choleric guard. “If this what-is-it was from any registered planet, we’d have had to memorize his characteristics.”

“As far as we know,” agreed his dark-skinned companion, “such a creature has never been authorized.”

“Now, wait a minute, fellows!” objected Radigan. “Mr. Rygeef comes from a planet that has just made contact with us. His description couldn’t be posted here yet.”

“And why not?” the truculent guard wanted to know. “How’d you get through Lunar customs?”

“Well…as a matter of fact, we didn’t come by way of Luna―”

“Oh, illegal entry, too! And just when and by who was this new planet discovered?”

“To tell the truth,” said Radigan, fighting off a desperate sensation of being mired in quicksand, “the planet itself hasn’t yet been visited. As for Rygeef, I personally made this contact.”

“Yeah? When and where?”

“On the fifth planet of Procyon, just about half an hour ago―Uh…that is to say―TURN THE THING ON, RYGEEF!”

The flickering, varicolored cocoon of force flowed strongly about them in an instant, blanking out the sight of outraged faces and reaching hands.

No sound penetrated, nor was there any sign inside the shield of the collision that must have taken place with shocking abruptness. The shrinking Radigan had seen one hamlike hand within a foot of clutching his equipment belt.

“We are safe, for the time,” Rygeef assured him. “You are indeed a suspicious race. What shall we do now?”

“I just don’t know,” admitted Radigan.

He glanced about, then sat down dejectedly on the curving floor of the cell. He wondered whether the spot hovered over soft grass or hard concrete.

“If I may suggest,” said Rygeef, “we would more likely receive appropriate examination on my world. I will keep our bargain―it promises interest. Now, if you do not mind describing to me the direction from here to the star where we met―?”

Radigan shrugged. With a sigh, he began the task of assembling his supply of astronomical knowledge.

The trip out from Sol took a bit longer because Rygeef paused for a peep at Procyon to check his bearings.

The next stop revealed a somber, cloudy world, marked at their landing spot by low, thick vegetation and low, squat buildings of stone.

“Ah, the peace to the eyes, after that riot of color!” wheezed Rygeef.

“Where are we?” inquired Radigan, arousing from his mortification to take an interest in their surroundings.

“We shall go directly to the center of the skeleton government which is all we of Khonyl require,” announced Rygeef, manipulating the black cube. “Later, I shall return to the science center here, from which I began my exploratory test.”

The flickering shield closed in again. When it lifted, the scenery had changed, but not sufficiently to counter Radigan’s impression of dull austerity.

“You have solid buildings,” he commented.

“Naturally, there must be space for certain officials, but you will see that things are arranged in a simpler, more informal and intelligent manner. We of Khonyl have only the necessary minimum of regulations.”

Radigan eyed the rows of squat, gray stone buildings, monotonously rectangular and flat-roofed. He wondered what the style revealed of the local bureaucratic mind, and he feared the stodgiest reality.

Still, he had to admit, Rygeef got the now-invisible force cyst to drift with them through the entrance of one building with no formalities at all. A few bulky, gray-skinned individuals with reddish or purplish thatches atop their round heads clumped to and fro on numerous feet; but none seemed to take any special interest in the visiting pair.

Rygeef examined a mass of symbols written upon one gray wall in luminous, bluish paint.

“We are in the wrong building,” the monster announced.

They drifted out the door again, along a paved walk between the massive structures, and into another entrance. Inside, this time, they discovered a sturdy stone counter, deeply carved with symbols and patterns that Radigan found meaningless. Behind it, on a slightly higher level, loitered a monster with a purplish head growth and a skin baggier and grayer than any the Terran had yet noticed.

This one glanced at Rygeef, scanned Radigan from helmet to boots, and finally refocused upon the explorer from Khonyl.

The bureaucrat behind the counter buzzed inquiringly at Rygeef, and Radigan realized with perfect certainty that the question had been, “Did you want something with the Customs Department?”

“Say, Rygeef,” he whispered, “how is it I can understand him?”

“You do not,” replied the monster. “You are still receiving my mental projections. Since I have been thinking at you for some time now, I automatically put this one’s question into your style of thought. It is simpler so.”

The gray hulk behind the counter leaned forward.

“Who was it you just called simple?” it asked unpleasantly. “And, by the way, what is that object you have there?”

“This,” replied Rygeef, “is a being of the planet Terra, named Radigan. I brought it back to Khonyl with me.”

“Well, now, we must check that origin,” said the official.

One forelimb reached beneath the counter and came up with a thick object that Radigan recognized as a book despite a peculiar shape of binding. There must have been a thousand pages of some shiny material halfway in appearance between silk and aluminum foil. The monster turned a number of leaves, scanning them with eyes roving independently. At length, Radigan received the full battery of the jet-orbed stare.

“What planet?”

“Terra,” repeated Rygeef. “You will not find it listed yet. I have just discovered it.”

“So!” The official glowered importantly. “You should know that regulations forbid the importation of pets without an adequate period of quarantine.”

“Whaddya mean, ‘pet’?” demanded Radigan.

The customs monster ignored him.

“It is hardly a pet,” answered Rygeef. “Despite its weird looks, it is a perfectly rational being, not far inferior in attainments to us of Khonyl.”

“A likely story!” scoffed the other: “I think you imagine yourself a joker, but just to be serviceable, I shall test this claim.”

Silence fell as the official turned a penetrating scrutiny upon Radigan. The Terran bore it for a few moments, but could not help fidgeting a bit.

“Well, what have you to say now?” demanded the customs clerk, thrusting its unlovely visage at Rygeef. “I thought right at it. Did it give any sign of enlightenment? No!”

“You don’t look too bright to me, either,” muttered Radigan, scowling.

Again, he was ignored, as Rygeef spoke.

“That was because I did not translate to its language,” claimed the explorer. “I have become accustomed to its style of thought.”

“Let us make this clear,” suggested the monster behind the counter. “Do you claim to be a returning traveler or an animal trainer? If the latter, the proper department is Export and Import, to begin with anyway. I will give you some forms to fill out―”

“You blubber-ball!” said Radigan. “Who are you to call me an animal, anyway?”

“There!” buzzed the official exultantly. “I distinctly heard it growl at me! Are you sure it is safe in that glass muzzle? You will be responsible if it injures anyone, you know.”

Before Rygeef could answer, the other reached across the counter and rapped on Radigan’s visor with one three-digited foreleg.

The Terran jerked his head back as nimbly as was possible in a spacesuit. Raising his right hand, he angrily slapped the monster’s limb away.

He had forgotten the heavy gauntlet of his suit. The official leaped back with a banshee yell, clasping the bruised member in its other forefoot. It danced about behind the counter, tripped over something, and disappeared to the accompaniment of shrieks and rubbery thuds.

Radigan restrained himself from climbing the counter when Rygeef pointed to a doorway at the rear of the enclosed space.

Two monsters clad in dark-red harness were issuing from the room beyond, and at the gallop. Their skin was light-gray and unwrinkled. Besides bearing long staffs, they showed every evidence of being young and in good condition.

The customs official reappeared, pulling itself up behind the counter. Radigan suspected that its features were contorted with pain, but it was difficult for him to be sure. There was, on the other hand, little doubt as to the quality of the stares directed at him by the oncoming reserves. Though originating in markedly alien surroundings, the look had much in common with that which he had received from the guards outside the Terran capitol.

“It’s come to this again,” he muttered to Rygeef.

“I must apply the usual remedy,” answered the other sadly.

The force cyst flowed into visibility about them once more, and the external threat was blotted out. Rygeef stared reflectively at the black cube he held.

“We ought to back up and start all over again,” grumbled Radigan.

“Perhaps,” replied the monster thoughtfully, “it would be best to return and not start at all.”

“How’s that?”

“I shall attempt to reach Procyon again. There, if we can find the right planet, you may return to your ship as if nothing had ever happened.”

Radigan nodded resignedly.

“It would be a relief,” he admitted. “Still…we ought to at least exchange coordinates. Now that our races have met, it seems a shame to lose contact. The galaxy isn’t overstocked with civilizations.”

Rygeef was silent, examining the black cube with patient interest. At last, the creature from Khonyl looked directly at Radigan.

“I agree. Perhaps those who come after us will have better chance at the next contact. A small preparation is all that should be necessary. It is also possible that I may supply you with the means to return to Khonyl.”

The Terran watched as the black cube was unfolded into two halves by the monster’s triple-digited members. From the half opposite the studded face, Rygeef drew a small black box.

“This is meant as an emergency control. You will note that the studs are less numerous, so it should be possible for me to explain their function to you before we part.”

“Will that little thing carry me the way we’ve been going?” asked Radigan skeptically.

“Since it taps energy of the galaxy, you have to need no fear. It is just that some…tricks…it can not do. But first, we must find this star you call Procyon.”

After arriving in the vicinity of Procyon’s fifth planet, it required only four attempts to bring the force cyst to rest in a spot both secluded and on the surface within easy walking distance of Radigan’s ship. Radigan, under constant coaching, achieved one of the shifts; and its failure to carry them to any desirable spot was interpreted by Rygeef as evidence of forgetting the terrain rather than as clumsiness with the control cube.

“It would perhaps be well for you to experiment cautiously against the time when you may wish to contact Khonyl,” the monster advised. “Until such time, I shall desire good chances for you.”

“Good luck to you, too,” said Radigan.

He found that he regretted the parting, for he was beginning to get used to Rygeef’s monstrous appearance. It was difficult, also, to dispel a certain awe at the gift that had been thrust upon him. He wondered, if the positions had been reversed, whether he would have managed such generous cooperation.

“I’ll get in touch with you for sure!” he promised, slipping through a gap in the shield that Rygeef opened for him.

The gully in which he stood after the force cyst had disappeared from visibility led him down to the plain where the exploring ship had landed. Radigan trudged doggedly across the stony expanse of waste land and eventually reached the towering spacecraft.

Two men, suited but with their helmets open, were evidently packing the last few odds and ends of equipment onto a tracked vehicle. One of them was making a determined, though only partly successful, effort at smoking a pipe. The other, a bantam redhead, put down a folding pick to watch Radigan come up.

“Hi, Johnson,” said the prodigal son.

“Where’ve you been?” demanded Johnson. “Thought for a while the Old Man was gonna sidetrack our party to search for you.”

“Party?”

“Yeah. Jimmy, here, and Conn and I are fixin’ to take a turn around those hills to see what might be dug out of them―if anything. Conn’s just now up talking to the Old Man about looking you up first. All the others that went out on foot were back hours ago. Where you been?”

Radigan looked back at the hills, then glanced at the ladder up which he would presently climb on his way to some crowded nook in the ship where he could examine his black control box in detail. The question was so totally beyond his ability to answer rationally that he could think of no rejoinder.

“Oh, I got around a little,” he offered weakly.

He held Rygeef’s instrument unobtrusively behind his hip and tried to change the subject.

“You guys are going to look through the hills?” he asked.

“Yup,” said Jimmy, removing the dead pipe regretfully from his mouth. “Got any tips for when we get there?”

“Just one,” said Radigan. “Stay out of caves. Can’t tell what you might fall into.”

He glanced up at the sky as he started up the ladder.

I’ll have to come out after dark, he reminded himself, and get a good fix on Sol. Next time I get lost, it won’t be where the boys can find me.