The alien hesitated, then inserted the four flaccid stalk-things at the end of its "arm" into Lloyd's hand. They shook these clasped appendages solemnly, then withdrew their own with relief.
"Boy, am I glad you Martians are friendly!" Lloyd laughed. "When I saw you up the street, I envisioned a full-scale guerrilla attack and—Damn, you're not getting a word of this, are you?"
In reply, the creature pointed to its thoracic region and said, "Ulkay Blet." It pointed to Lloyd again and enunciated carefully, "Lieutenant Lloyd."
"Glad to know you, Ulkay. Or do I call you by both names? Or just Mister Blet?"
"Ulkay," the alien said. "Blet," he added. "Ulkay Blet," he clarified, with an almost Earthlike shrug.
It was strictly a take-your-pick name, Lloyd saw. He took his pick. "Ulkay, tell me, are you the last of your race, or are there others of your kind still left alive on Mars?"
Ulkay just stared, friendly but lost.
Lloyd tried again. "I—" he pointed to himself—"am here with more like me—" he pointed to himself, held up one finger to Ulkay, then pointed in a long sweep behind himself toward the end of the street and held up four fingers. His only success was an envious look from Ulkay at Lloyd's extra finger.
"Hoo boy!" said Lloyd, smacking his brow in chagrin. "This is a rough one. Look, Ulkay, you hold on and don't be scared." He laid a hand upon Ulkay's shoulder for assurance, then turned his head and shouted, "Here! This way, men!"