Then they could see the smiling (or was it smiling?) face. "Something odd about his eyes too," Crawford said.
"No, the eyes are all right," Barnes insisted. "He's anatomically normal but you got that impression because only one side of his face is smiling and the other's kind of expressionless, almost bored!"
He was still striding toward them, a handsome man well over seven feet as planetary hospitality officials were supposed to be, and his left hand, the more-rapidly swinging one, was making elaborate arabesques in the air.
"Crazy habit," said the Commander, "never seen the likes of that before."
"The eyes are peculiar," Stern said in a low voice to the rest of the group, "and I'll tell you why. Every once in a while they blink out of step with each other."
"No," said Barnes, "I don't see anything like that. There—they just blinked together. And there, together ag—no, I'm not sure this time!"
But Barnes withdrew his aggressive stare and fell silent as the Nodarian came closer. Dressed in the same sheath garments as the visitors, he was now beaming at them on both sides of his face. "We are glad to welcome ancient brothers. My given name is Jackson," he said in a deep, full voice and extended the right hand to Linder who was resplendent in the gold sash of Space Commander, while his other hand continued to play gracefully up and around and down and under and up, moulding air to instantly vanishing shapes.
Linder, a little dubious, accepted the greeting. "We have been eager to visit here. Contact has been so infrequent and Glia's Supreme Council has wondered—." He stopped because Jackson's eyes had drifted away. The man seemed to be listening either to some vigorous mathemusic that had started up on the main building's PA system or some other music, much more languid, coming from another direction. "I said, Greeter Jackson, that contact has been so infrequent and—."
"Oh, I heard everything you said," the Nodarian nodded patiently, still not bothering to focus his gaze on him.