And there was also the possibility, which abruptly occurred to him, that the robots might well be prepared to blow his ship to hell and gone. He stopped in the center of the deck. A whole new line of thought opened up. If the robots were armed and ready ... could this be an outpost? _An outpost!_ He turned and raced for the bridge. If he went in and landed and was lost, then the League might never know in time. If he went in and stirred up trouble.... The thought in his mind was scattered suddenly, like a mist blown away. A voice was speaking in his mind, a deep calm voice that seemed to say: "_Greetings. Do not be alarmed. We do not wish you to be alarmed. Our desire is only to serve...._" * * * * * "Greetings, it said! Greetings!" Ball was mumbling incredulously through shocked lips. Everyone on the ship had heard the voice. When it spoke again, Steffens was not sure whether it was just one voice or many voices. "We await your coming," it said gravely, and repeated: "Our desire is only to serve." And then the robots sent a _picture_. As perfect and as clear as a tridim movie, a rectangular plate took shape in Steffens' mind. On the face of the plate, standing alone against a background of red-brown, bare rocks, was one of the robots. With slow, perfect movement, the robot carefully lifted one of the hanging arms of its side, of its _right_ side, and extended it toward Steffens, a graciously offered hand. Steffens felt a peculiar, compelling urge to take the hand, realized right away that the urge to take the hand was not entirely his. The robot mind had helped. When the picture vanished, he knew that the others had seen it. He waited for a while; there was no further contact, but the feeling of the robot's urging was still strong within him. He had an idea that, if they wanted to, the robots could control his mind. So when nothing more happened, he began to lose his fear. While the crew watched in fascination, Steffens tried to talk back. He concentrated hard on what he was saying, said it aloud for good measure, then held his own hand extended in the robot manner of shaking hands. "Greetings," he said, because it was what _they_ had said, and explained: "We have come from the stars." It was overly dramatic, but so was the whole situation. He wondered baffledly if he should have let the Alien Contact crew handle it. Order someone to stand there, feeling like a fool, and _think_ a message? No, it was his responsibility; he had to go on: "We request--we respectfully request permission to land upon your planet." * * * * * Steffens had not realized that there were so many.