the contact point
By JACK SHARKEY
Somewhere on Mars there had
to be a meeting of the minds....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, January 1961.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Lieutenant Lloyd spotted the first alien in the ruins of the strange red Martian city on the second day of exploration. His first impulse was to call out to the other men—but then, afraid his voice would startle the creature down at the end of the rubble-strewn street, he silently unholstered his military service pistol and crept forward toward the back (he hoped it was the back) of the alien, his breath rasping behind his faceplate.
He was a mere ten paces short of his goal when loose gravel beneath his heavy boot betrayed him. Even in the thin Martian atmosphere, the sound was a sharp one. The creature spun about, one appendage gripping the haft of a slim crystal tube. He froze there, watching Lloyd with odd oval-shaped eyes, yellow-orange in color. Lloyd's thumb slid back the safety catch on his automatic, slowly, carefully.
Then the creature lowered the tube and its wide lipless mouth curled in what had to be a grin. "Ookl okkl?" it said distinctly.
Lloyd looked into the alien eyes and was pleased to see the intelligence within their depths. He reholstered his pistol and held out his hand. "Lieutenant Lloyd of the Sherlock II," he said.