One of the near robots came forward alone, moving, as Steffens now saw, on a number of short, incredibly strong and agile legs. The black thing paused before him, extended a hand as it had done in the picture. Steffens took it, he hoped, warmly; felt the power of the metal through the glove of his suit.
"Welcome," the robot said, speaking again to his mind, and now Steffens detected a peculiar alteration in the robot's tone. It was less friendly now, less—Steffens could not understand—somehow less interested, as if the robot had been—expecting someone else.
"Thank you," Steffens said. "We are deeply grateful for your permission to land."
"Our desire," the robot repeated mechanically, "is only to serve."
Suddenly, Steffens began to feel alone, surrounded by machines. He tried to push the thought out of his mind, because he knew that they should seem inhuman. But....
"Will the others come down?" asked the robot, still mechanically.
Steffens felt his embarrassment. The ship lay high in the mist above, jets throbbing gently.
"They must remain with the ship," Steffens said aloud, trusting to the robot's formality not to ask him why. Although, if they could read his mind, there was no need to ask.
For a long while, neither spoke, long enough for Steffens to grow tense and uncomfortable. He could not think of a thing to say, the robot was obviously waiting, and so, in desperation, he signaled the Aliencon men to come on out of the skiff.
They came, wonderingly, and the ring of robots widened. Steffens heard the one robot speak again. The voice was now much more friendly.