Meeting of the Minds By ROBERT SHECKLEY Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine February 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] What mission had the Quedak been given? Even he couldn't remember any more--but he refused to die till it was completed! PART ONE The Quedak lay on a small hilltop and watched a slender jet of light descend through the sky. The feather-tailed jet was golden, and brighter than the sun. Poised above it was a glistening metallic object, fabricated rather than natural, hauntingly familiar. The Quedak tried to think what it was. He couldn't remember. His memories had atrophied with his functions, leaving only scattered fragments of images. He searched among them now, leafing through his brief scraps of ruined cities, dying populations, a blue-water-filled canal, two moons, a spaceship.... That was it. The descending object was a _spaceship_. There had been many of them during the great days of the Quedak. Those great days were over, buried forever beneath the powdery sands. Only the Quedak remained. He had life and he had a mission to perform. The driving urgency of his mission remained, even after memory and function had failed. As the Quedak watched, the spaceship dipped lower. It wobbled and sidejets kicked out to straighten it. With a gentle explosion of dust, the spaceship settled tail first on the arid plain. And the Quedak, driven by the imperative Quedak mission, dragged itself painfully down from the little hilltop. Every movement was an agony. If he were a selfish creature, the Quedak would have died. But he was not selfish. Quedaks owed a duty to the universe; and that spaceship, after all the blank years, was a link to other worlds, to planets where the Quedak could live again and give his services to the native fauna. He crawled, a centimeter at a time, and wondered whether he had the strength to reach the alien spaceship before it left this dusty, dead planet. * * * * * Captain Jensen of the spaceship _Southern Cross_ was bored sick with Mars. He and his men had been here for ten days. They had found no important archeological specimens, no tantalizing hints of ancient cities such as the _Polaris_ expedition had discovered at the South Pole. Here there was nothing but sand, a few weary shrubs, and a rolling hill or two. Their biggest find so far had been three pottery shards. Jensen readjusted his oxygen booster. Over the rise of a hill he saw his two men returning. "Anything interesting?" he asked. "Just this," said engineer Vayne, holding up an inch of corroded blade without a handle. "Better than nothing," Jensen said. "How about you, Wilks?"