He awoke to find a small congregation of teardrops surrounding the watch strapped outside the suit on his left wrist. The watch was going--wound through habit every twenty-four hours, though that was but a third of a day, here on Venus. The teardrops were curious about it. How he got the idea they were curious, George didn't quite know. They seemed attracted to it, was all. There were no eyes, so far as he could tell--no ears. If these things had senses, they were not like terrestrial senses. But the teardrops did have an attitude of attention. George removed his watch, laid it before them. Two teardrops detached themselves from the group to examine his right hand, with which he'd slipped off the wrist-band. Three others perched on the dust-covered deck, the watch between them and him. George flexed his right hand, twiddled his fingers. The teardrops seemed unafraid. He chose one and lifted it. It seemed light in weight. Its star-foot was slightly prehensile, and grasped his glove with tiny claws arranged in rows on its bottom surface. The claws seemed for clinging, not for seizing. George put down the teardrop, turned it over, and found no opening anywhere on the surface. If these things lived, he decided, they must be plants, synthesizing their food--they had no way to eat as animals do. Vaguely, George made up his wavering mind that the things existed outside his imagination. They were alive. They felt curiosity about him. Leathery, he found them--hard and smooth, except for the foot. When he set down the teardrop he'd been examining, the three by his watch took up a rhythmic motion. The center one stood in place, swaying slowly above the watch like a bit of seaweed in a quiet lagoon. Each of the other two had somehow obtained a pebble. They set their pebbles down near the watch. Each then tapped with a star-point, first at the pebble, then at the watch. Back and forth they swayed, their motions synchronized--perhaps directed by the center one. Interesting--but meaningless. It was equally meaningless when the two teardrops at his right began to dance. They found an empty food-can lid, pushed it near his hand, and began a concerted swaying and pointing that took them between hand and can. Idly, George led the dance with a waggled forefinger. The teardrops promptly changed their motion. They stood in place, no longer pointing alternately at lid and finger, but swaying between them in time with George. [Illustration: _Idly, George led the dance with a waggled forefinger...._] They were slow, though--he could easily have left them behind. But if he moved his finger slowly enough, they kept perfect time. The dance at the watch had stopped. Many teardrops gathered around the pair that followed the beat of his right index finger. It must have amused them. But it soon tired George. He stopped.