Katherine MacLean

“ That's Bud. He's all excited. He says holy smoke, what a murky-looking planet we live on." Nathen smiled. "Kidding."
The Times was puzzled. "What does he mean, murky? It can't be raining over much territory on Earth." Outside, the rain was slowing and bright blue patches of sky were shining through breaks in the cloud blanket, glittering blue light from the drops that ran down the windows. He tried to think of an explanation. "Maybe they're trying to land on Venus." The thought was ridiculous, he knew. The spaceship was following Nathen's sending beam. It couldn't miss Earth. ”

“ For a moment it was just Bud's voice speaking the alien language, and then, very distant and clear in his earphones, he heard the recorded voice of the linguist say an English word, then a mechanical click and another clear word in the voice of one of the other translators, then another as the alien's voice flowed from the loudspeaker, the cool single words barely audible, overlapping and blending with it like translating thought, skipping unfamiliar words, yet quite astonishingly clear.
"Radar shows no buildings or civilization near. The atmosphere around us registers as thick as glue. ”

“ Nearby, the floodlights blazed steadily on the television platform, ready for the official welcome of the aliens to Earth. The television channels of the world had been alerted to set aside their scheduled programs for an unscheduled great event. In the long room the people waited, listening for the swelling sound of rocket jets. ”

“ Theoretically, a tight beam can go on forever without losing power. But aiming would be difficult from planet to planet. You can't expect a beam to stay on target, over such distances, more than a few seconds at a time. So they'd naturally compress each message into a short half-second or one-second-length package and send it a few hundred times in one long blast to make sure it is picked up during the instant the beam swings across the target. ”

“ Bud hesitated, was prompted by a deeper official voice and jerked out the words.
"If it is a trick, we are ready to repel attack."
The linguist stood listening. He whitened slowly and beckoned the other linguists over to him and whispered to them.
Joseph Nathen looked at them with unwarranted bitter hostility while he picked up the hand-mike, plugging it into the translator. "Joe calling," he said quietly into it in clear, slow English. "No trick. We don't know where you are. I am trying to get a direction fix from your signal. Describe your surroundings to us if at all possible." ”

“ He wondered if he should remind the reporter that Nathen had said he assigned the color bands on guess, choosing the colors that gave the most plausible images. The guests, when they arrived, could turn out to be bright green with blue hair. Only the gradations of color in the picture were sure, only the similarities and contrasts, the relationship of one color to another.
From the screen came the sound of the alien language again. This race averaged deeper voices than human. He liked deep voices. ”

“ The screen went gray, and the green light went off.
The Times considered the lag required for the help call, the speaking and recording of the message just received, the time needed to reconvert a viewing screen.
"They work fast." He shifted uneasily, and added at random, "Something wrong with the time factor. All wrong. They work too fast."
The green light came on again immediately. Nathen half turned to him, sliding his words hastily into the gap of time as the message was recorded and slowed. "They're close enough for our transmission power to blow their receiver." ”

“ The reporters smiled, noting that down.
Security regulations had changed since arms inspection had been legalized by the U.N. Complete information being the only public security against secret rearmament, spying and prying had come to seem a public service. Its aura had changed. It was good public relations to admit to it.
Nathen continued, "I started directing the pickup at stars in my spare time. There's radio noise from stars, you know. Just stuff that sounds like spatter static, and an occasional squawk. ”

“ He had understood.
"It's dark," the thin Intelligence Department decoder translated, low-voiced, to the man from the Times. "Your atmosphere is thick. That's precisely what Bud said."
Another three minutes. The Times caught himself about to light a cigarette and swore silently, blowing the match out and putting the cigarette back into its package. He listened for the sound of the rocket jets. ”

“ And these pictures positively, absolutely could not lie!
The man from the News asked, "What do you think of the aliens, Mister Nathen? Are they friendly? Do they look human?"
"Very human," said the thin young man. ”

“ Tomorrow he would be one of the biggest celebrities ever to appear in headlines.
"No, nothing directly."
"Any ideas or deductions?" Herald persisted.
"Their world must be Earth-like to them," the weary-looking young man answered uncertainly. "The environment evolves the animal. ”

“ The machine translated in their earphones.
"Tried ... seemed ... repair...." Suddenly it came in clearly. "Can't tell if the auxiliary blew, too. Will try it. We might pick you up clearly on the next try. I have the volume down. Where is the landing port? Repeat. Where is the landing port? Where are you?"
Nathen put down the hand-mike and carefully set a dial on the recording box, and flipped a switch, speaking over his shoulder. "This sets it to repeat what I said the last time. It keeps repeating." ”

“ The green warning light cut in, the recording clicked and the playback of Bud's face and voice appeared on the screen.
"We heard a few words, Joe, and then the receiver blew again. We're adjusting a viewing screen to pick up the long waves that go through the murk and convert them to visible light. We'll be able to see out soon. The engineer says that something is wrong with the stern jets, and the captain has had me broadcast a help call to our nearest space base." ”