He swiveled his head in the other direction.
"Gulp!" he said again.
Three Centaurs, dominant beings of the Alpha Centauri system, faced them with drawn guns. The grinning creatures were vaguely manlike—they walked on two legs and breathed oxygen. At that point the resemblance ceased, for they also breathed methane or ammonia or practically nothing at all. They also had big eyes, a dozen arms, and more fingers than a moron could count without risking a headache.
O'Dea closed his eyes and moaned.
"This is it, Mercedes," he said softly.
"Shut up!" Hawthorne muttered. "Maybe they're an independent tribe—" He twisted his homely face into a grin and spoke in South Martian Vlandian, the lingua franca of space:
"Somu amiki ... neura barc s' arik—"
"Oh how lovely!" said the largest Centaur, in English. "Such a delightful ship and what wonderful specimens of homo sapiens we are find! This auspicious occurrence will aid our plans in the utmost manner!"
The creature assumed an expression that passed for a friendly smile among the Centaurs. This consisted of displaying all his teeth and snapping them together as he spoke.
"I am called Morguma," he announced. "In Bridgeport, Connecticut, I learn the English before comes the war—so sorry, the trouble!" He smirked apologetically. "It is with the most pleased pleasure I acquaint myself with you!"