Clindar’s voice, slightly larger than life, came from the robot’s speaker.

“It’s astonishing how calmly he accepts us. “Won’t anything scare him?”

“You will keep judging him by your own standards,” replied Bertrond. “Remember, his psychology is completely different, and much simpler. Now that he has confidence in me, anything that I accept won’t worry him.”

“I wonder if that will be true of all his race?” queried Altman. “It’s hardly safe to judge by a single specimen. I want to see what happens when we send the robot into the village.”

“Hello!” exclaimed Bertrond. “That surprised him. He’s never met a person who could speak with two voices before.”

“Do you think he’ll guess the truth when he meets us?” said Clindar.

“No. The robot will be pure magic to him—but it won’t be any more wonderful than fire and lightning and all the other forces he must already take for granted.”

“Well, what’s the next move?” asked Altman, a little impatiently. “Are you going to bring him to the ship, or will you go into the village first?”

Bertrond hesitated. I’m anxious not to do too much too quickly. You know the accidents that have happened with strange races when that’s been tried. I’ll let him think this over, and when we get back tomorrow I’ll try to persuade him to take the robot back to the village.”

In the hidden ship, Clindar reactivated the robot and started it moving again. Like Altman, he was growing a little impatient of this excessive caution, but on all matters relating to alien life-forms Bertrond was the expert, and they had to obey his orders.

There were times now when he almost wished he were a robot himself, devoid of feelings or emotions, able to watch the fall of a leaf or the death agonies of a world with equal detachment…

The sun was low when Yaan heard the great voice crying from the jungle. He recognized it at once, despite its inhuman volume: it was the voice of his friend, and it was calling him.