He could discern no appreciable difference save for the perfect roundness of their dark eyes and a slight elongation of their ears. Their flesh was golden tan.
"Well, hello!" said Captain Torkel.
The Sirians moved toward him, with such grace that they seemed not men striding through the singing forest, but part of the living trees and ferns and flowers.
"Hello," echoed the foremost Sirian, smiling. He was a young man, about thirty by Earth standards, with long black hair and wide, muscular shoulders. His handsome face reminded Captain Torkel of romantic Latin heroes in the micro-movies aboard the Star Queen.
Captain Torkel pointed to the sky. "We come from up there, from another world."
The Sirian's eyes were like black lights spearing into the captain's skull. "Yes, you come from star. You are Star People. Where is your star?"
"It's a long way—"
"Hey, he spoke in English!" cried Fox. "What the hell!"
"I—I'm going back to the rocket," stammered Van Gundy, shaking.
"Lord, I need a drink," murmured Lieutenant Washington, stepping back with Van Gundy.