It was possible, I knew, that the spacemen might look grotesque to us. But I clung to a Stubborn feeling that they would resemble man. That came, of course, from an inborn feeling of man’s superiority over all living things. It carried over into a feeling that any thinking, intelligent being, whether on Mars or Wolf 359’s planets, should have evolved in the same form. I gave up trying to imagine how the spacemen might look. There was simply nothing to go on. But there were strong indications of how they thought and reacted. Certain qualities were plainly evident. _Intelligence_. No one could dispute that. It took a high order of mentality to construct and operate a space ship. _Courage_. It would take brave men to face the hazards of space. _Curiosity_. Without this quality, they would never have thought to explore far-distant planets. There were other qualities that seemed almost equally certain. These spacemen apparently lacked belligerence; there had been no sign of hostility through all the years. They were seemingly painstaking and extremely methodical. It was still not much of a picture. But somehow, it was encouraging. Glancing down from the plane’s window, I thought: How does this look to them? Our farms, our cities, the railroads there below; the highways, with the speeding cars and trucks; the winding river, and far off to the right, the broad stretch of the Atlantic. What would they think of America? Manhattan came into sight, as the pilot let down for the landing. An odd thought popped into my mind. How would a spaceman react if he saw a Broadway show? Not long before, I had seen South Pacific. I could still hear Ezio Pinza’s magnificent voice as he sang “Some Enchanted Evening.” Was music a part of spacemen’s lives, or would it be something new and strange, perhaps completely distasteful? They might live and think on a coldly intelligent level, without a touch of what we know as emotion. To them, our lives might seem meaningless and dull. We ourselves might appear grotesque in form. But in their progress, there must have been struggle, trial and error, some feeling of triumph at success. Surely these would be emotional forces, bound to reflect in the planet races. Perhaps, in spite of some differences, we would find a common bond—the bond of thinking, intelligent creatures trying to better themselves. The airliner landed and taxied in to unload. As I went down the gangway I suddenly realized something. My last vague fear was gone. It had not been a personal fear of the visitors from space. It had been a selfish fear of the impact on my life. I realized that now. It might be a long time before they would try to make contact. But I had a conviction that when it came, it would be a peaceful mission, not an ultimatum. It could even be the means of ending wars on earth. But I had been conditioned to this thing. I had had six months of preparation, six months to go from complete skepticism to slow, final acceptance.