Then he saw the faces of the passengers.
He drew in his breath sharply. Godlike. Two men whose brows were cliffs of alabaster, whose chins were strong with the firmness of steady, flamelike wisdom. Two women whose calm, lovely features made the heart within him melt and course.
The vehicle stopped ten yards from the open spacelock of the ship. From its tip gushed upward a ten-foot fountain of sparks that flashed the gamut of the rainbow. Simultaneously one of the godlike passengers touched the wheel, and there was a sweet, piercing, imperative summons like a hundred strings and brasses in unison.
Helena whispered, “They want us to come out. Ross—Ross—I can’t face them!” She buried her face in her hands.
“Steady,” he said gravely. “They’re only human.”
Ross gripped that belief tightly; he hardly dared permit himself to think, even for a second, that perhaps these people were no longer merely human. Hoarsely he said, “We need their help. Maybe we should send Doc Jones out first. He’s the oldest of us, and he’s the only one you could call a scientist; he can talk to them. Where is he?”
A raucous Jones voice bellowed through the domed control room: “Who wansh ol’ doc, hargh? Who wansh goo’ ol’ doc?”
Good old doc staggered into the room, obviously loaded to the gills by a very enjoyable backslide. He began to sing:
“In A. J. seven thirty-two a Jones from Jones’s Valley, He wandered into Jones’s Town to hold a Jonesist Rally. He shocked the gents and ladies both; his talk was most disturbing; He spoke of seven-sided doors and purple-colored curbing——”
Jones’s eyes focused on Helena. He flushed. “’m deeply sorry,” he mumbled. “Unf’rgivable vulgararrity. Mom’ntarily f’rgot ladies were present.”