"Which being the case," drawled Lark O'Day, rising and stretching nonchalantly, "I might as well take a stroll outside and make sure we didn't split any seams when we pancaked. Come along, Hugh?"
He lifted down a brace of fabricoid bulgers from their racks on the control room wall. But before he and the skipper had time to don the airtight suits, there came an interruption not so alarming as unexpected. From the starboard airlock athwart the ship came the rasp of an entrance buzzer, then the wheeze of escaping air as someone or something outside employed the opening apparatus.
For a moment the companions stared at each other in bewilderment, then, as one, they turned and dashed toward the portal.
They arrived just as the inner door of the lock opened, admitting two bulger-clad figures. The taller of these stepped forward with hands outstretched in gesture of peaceful intent, and a quiet, pleasant voice said, "Greeting, friends. We bid you welcome to our tiny refuge."
Then the bulger helm was thrown back, and they were gazing upon the slant-eyed, ivory-skinned countenance of a native Martian.
Now again the ex-pirate, Lark O'Day, proved himself a valuable adjunct to the party. He moved to confront the newcomers, conducting the amenities of greeting as only one with a knowledge of Martian custom and tradition could.
"Welcome, O brother of the ancient world," he said politely. "Your presence is like water to a sun-parched tongue. We are honored by your visit."
Never a word of surprise or astonishment. Never a query as to whence came the two interlopers. And though the old Martian's impassive face moved not a muscle, it was apparent he was pleased to find amongst this group one who respected the formalities of his people.
He bowed in turn, and with a politeness surpassing that of O'Day breathed, "You are most kind. The mongrel barks unbidden at the courteous man's gate."