There was no opening for vision. The helmets were faceless steel blanks. Sight was by view screen entirely — a small plate set in front of the wearer's face.
Joe stepped inside the hangar before he remembered to turn his plate on, and stumbled around in blindness.
"Where are you going — ?" He heard Litchfield's voice.
"Haven't worn one of these for so long —" he mumbled while his fingers sought the controls. "There —"
The interior of the hangar showed on his plate. Floodlights poured illumination over the polished hull. Beautiful, seamless construction, Joe noted.
"Where's your cerebropath? Inside?"
"No. We found some terminals in the ships lock so we ran some leads and put our end outside. It's over here."
In spite of the paramagnetic assistance, Joe waddled awkwardly in the heavy suit. On the other side of the ship he came to a panel of apparatus with a cable of leads running into the open lock door of the ship. On a screen, he saw the interior. The two Neranians were looking at him through a thick yellowish brown haze that was the atmosphere in which they lived.
He had long been accustomed to appearances of foreign creatures, which were repulsive by Earth standards, but these two specimens were among the most unbeautiful he had ever seen.
He stepped up to the instrument and spoke to them, the machine automatically making a semantic transfer of his language meanings into theirs. "I am Joe Williams," he said. "You have heard of me, of course, since you have come here for repairs."