"I suggest that they give evidence of being non-violent," said Ohashi. "Either that, or they have cleverly arranged themselves to present the face of non-violence."
Francine turned, and looked out the hut's end window at the bulk of the spaceship. The low sun cast elongated shadows of the ship across the sand.
Zakheim, too, looked out the window. "Why did they choose this place? If it had to be a desert, why not the Gobi? This is not even a good desert! This is a miserable desert!"
"Probably the easiest landing curve to a site near a large city," said Goré. "It is possible they chose a desert to avoid destroying arable land."
"Frogs!" snapped Zakheim. "I do not trust these frogs with their problem of communication!"
Francine turned back to the table, and took a pencil and scratch-pad from her briefcase. Briefly she sketched a rough outline of a Galactic, and wrote "frog?" beside it.
Ohashi said: "Are you drawing a picture of your Galactic?"
"We call it 'Uru' for the same reason you call yours 'Kobai'," she said. "It makes the sound 'Uru' ad nauseum."
She stared at her own sketch thoughtfully, calling up the memory image of the Galactic as she did so. Squat, about five feet ten inches in height, with the short bowed legs of a swimmer. Rippling muscles sent corded lines under the black leotards. The arms were articulated like a human's, but they were more graceful in movement. The skin was pale green, the neck thick and short. The wide mouth was almost lipless, the nose a mere blunt horn. The eyes were large and spaced wide with nictating lids. No hair, but a high crowned ridge from the center of the forehead swept back across the head.