Nonetheless, Ronaro also tried to contact the stranger. He had, perhaps, better luck than his Captain, but his mind found only primal impulses, not thoughts. There was hunger there, more like greed to the refined sensitiveness of the Alarian, and a great fear that at the moment lay dormant and formless. There wasn't even the faintest stirrings of curiosity toward their boat. In fact, his probing mind could not even find a specific identification of the lifeboat in the thing's mind.
"Ugh," he shuddered, "completely undeveloped. A beast."
Ekrado frowned mentally. "You must have done better than I, at least. I found only nothingness."
"You must have been looking solely for intelligence," Ronaro hastened to reassure his Captain. "There was none to find. Only primitive emotions."
Silently, Ekrado started the lifeboat on its long sweep through the waters. At the end of a hundred miles, he turned in a slow curve and headed back along a straight line parallel to the way they had come. Back and forth they combed through the blue-green water, systematically hunting some sign of intelligent life.
During this period, they several times encountered creatures similar to that which they had first thought might be like themselves. Each time hope rose again; and each time it came to nothing. Each such creature inspired in them a strange medley of emotions, a sense of kinship and yet of repugnance, a feeling at once of benevolence toward a more backward cousin mixed with exasperation.
After the futile search had gone on for several hours, Ronaro was struck with a sudden idea.
"Perhaps the intelligent races of this planet are deep-sea creatures," he suggested.
"It's possible," mused Ekrado. "So far I've been cruising pretty much at our own favorite depth."