"_Land!_" Sawtelle stormed. "On a planet like _that_? Not by ..." He broke off and stared; for now, on that cradle, there flamed out in screaming red the _Perseus'_ own Navy-coded landing symbols! "Your protest is recorded," Hilton said. "Now, sir, land." Fuming, Sawtelle landed. Sandra looked pointedly at Hilton. "First contact is my dish, you know." "Not that I like it, but it is." He turned to a burly youth with sun-bleached, crew-cut hair, "Still safe, Frank?" "Still abnormally low. Surprising no end, since all the rest of the planet is hotter than the middle tail-race of hell." "Okay, Sandy. Who will you want besides the top linguists?" "Psych--both Alex and Temple. And Teddy Blake. They're over there. Tell them, will you, while I buzz Teddy?" "Will do," and Hilton stepped over to the two psychologists and told them. Then, "I hope I'm not leading with my chin, Temple, but is that your real first name or a professional?" "It's real; it really is. My parents were romantics: dad says they considered both 'Golden' and 'Silver'!" Not at all obviously, he studied her: the almost translucent, unblemished perfection of her lightly-tanned, old-ivory skin; the clear, calm, deep blueness of her eyes; the long, thick mane of hair exactly the color of a field of dead-ripe wheat. "You know, I like it," he said then. "It fits you." "I'm glad you said that, Doctor...." "Not that, Temple. I'm not going to 'Doctor' you." "I'll call you 'boss', then, like Stella does. Anyway, that lets me tell you that I like it myself. I really think that it did something for me." "_Something_ did something for you, that's for sure. I'm mighty glad you're aboard, and I hope ... here they come. Hi, Hark! Hi, Stella!" "Hi, Jarve," said Chief Linguist Harkins, and: "Hi, boss--what's holding us up?" asked his assistant, Stella Wing. She was about five feet four. Her eyes were a tawny brown; her hair a flamboyant auburn mop. Perhaps it owed a little of its spectacular refulgence to chemistry, Hilton thought, but not too much. "Let us away! Let the lions roar and let the welkin ring!" "Who's been feeding _you_ so much red meat, little squirt?" Hilton laughed and turned away, meeting Sandra in the corridor. "Okay, chick, take 'em away. We'll cover you. Luck, girl." And in the control room, to Sawtelle, "Needle-beam cover, please; set for minimum aperture and lethal blast. But no firing, Captain Sawtelle, until I give the order." * * * * * The _Perseus_ was surrounded by hundreds of natives. They were all adult, all naked and about equally divided as to sex. They were friendly; most enthusiastically so. "Jarve!" Sandra squealed. "They're _telepathic_. Very strongly so! I never imagined--I never felt anything like it!" "Any rough stuff?" Hilton demanded.