Chouns muttered, “Funny. The analyzers don't say what's wrong.”

He was right. The needles wavered erratically, never stopping once for a reasonable length of time, so that no diagnosis was indicated. And, as a consequence, no repairs could be carried through.

“Never saw anything like it,” growled Smith. “We'll have to shut everything off and diagnose manually.”

“We might as well do it comfortably,” said Chouns, who was already at the telescopes. “Nothing's wrong with the ordinary spacedrive, and there are two decent planets in this system.”

“Oh? How decent and which ones?”

“The first and second out of four: Both water-oxygen. The first is a bit warmer and larger than Earth; the second a bit colder and smaller. Fair enough?”

“Life?”

“Both. Vegetation, anyway.” Smith grunted. There was nothing in that to surprise anyone; vegetation occurred more often than not on water-oxygen worlds. And, unlike animal life, vegetation could be seen telescopically-or, more precisely, spectroscopically. Only four photochemical pigments had ever been found in any plant form, and each could be detected by the nature of the light it reflected.

Chouns said, “Vegetation on both planets is chlorophyll type, no less. It'll be just like Earth; real homey.”

Smith said, “Which is closer?”

“Number two, and we're on our way. I have a feeling it's going to be a nice planet.”

“I'll judge that by the instruments, if you don't mind,” said Smith.

But this seemed to be one of Chouns's correct hunches.

The planet was a tame one with an intricate ocean network that insured a climate of small temperature range. The mountain ranges were low and rounded, and the distribution of vegetation indicated high and widespread fertility.

Chouns was at the controls for the actual landing.

Smith grew impatient. “What are you picking and choosing for? One place is like another.”

“I’m looking for a bare spot, “ said Chouns. “No use burning up an acre of plant life.”

“What if you do?”

“What if I don't?” said Chouns, and found his bare spot.

It was only then, after landing, that they realized a small part of what they had tumbled into.

“Jumping space-warps,” said Smith.

Chouns felt stunned. Animal life was much rarer than vegetation, and even the glimmerings of intelligence were far rarer still; yet here, not half a mile away from landing point, was a clustering of low, thatched huts that were obviously the product of a primitive intelligence.

“Careful, “ said Smith dazedly.

“I don't think there's any harm,” said Chouns. He stepped out onto the surface of the planet with firm confidence; Smith followed.

Chouns controlled his excitement with difficulty. “This is terrific. No one's ever reported anything better than caves or woven tree-branches before.”

“I hope they're harmless.”

“It's too peaceful for them to be anything else. Smell the air.”

Coming down to landing, the terrain-to all points of horizon, except where a low range of hills broke the even line-had been colored a soothing pale pink, dappled against the chlorophyll green. At closer quarters the pale pink broke up into individual flowers, fragile and fragrant. Only the areas in the immediate neighborhood of the huts were amber with something that looked like a cereal grain.

Creatures were emerging from the huts, moving closer to the ship with a kind of hesitating trust. They had fourlegs and a sloping body which stood three feet high at the shoulders. Their heads were set firmly on those shoulders, with bulging eyes (Chouns counted six) set in a circle and capable of the most disconcertingly independent motion. (That makes up for the immovability of the head, thought Chouns.)

Each animal had a tail that forked at the end, forming two sturdy fibrils that each animal held high. The fibrils maintained a rapid tremor that gave them a hazy, blurred look.

“Come on,” said Chouns. “They won't hurt us; I'm sure of it.”

The animals surrounded the men at a cautious distance. Their tails made a modulated humming noise.

“They might communicate that way,” said Chouns. “ And I think it's obvious they're vegetarians.” He pointed toward one of the huts, where a small member of the species sat on its haunches, plucking at the amber grain with his tails, and flickering an ear of it through his mouth like a man sucking a series of maraschino cherries off a toothpick.

“Human beings eat lettuce,” said Smith, “but that doesn't prove anything.”

More of the tailed creatures emerged, hovered about the men for a moment, then vanished off into the pink and green.

“Vegetarians,” said Chouns firmly. “Look at the way they cultivate the main crop.”

The main crop, as Chouns called it, consisted of a coronet of soft green spikes, close to the ground. Out of the center of the coronet grew a hairy stem which, at two-inch intervals, shot out fleshy, veined buds that almost pulsated, they seemed so “Vitally alive. The stem ended at the tip with the pale pink blossoms that, except for the color, were the most Earthly thing about the plants.

The plants were laid out in rows and files with geometric precision. The soil about each was well loosened and powdered with a foreign substance that could be nothing but fertilizer. Narrow passageways, just wide enough for an animal to pass along, crisscrossed the field, and eachpassageway was lined with narrow sluiceways, obviously for water.

The animals were spread through the fields now, working diligently, heads bent. Only a few remained in the neighborhood of the two men.

Chouns nodded. “They're good farmers.”

“Not bad,” agreed Smith. He walked briskly toward the nearest of the pale pink blooms and reached for one; but six inches short of it he was stopped by the sound of tail vibrations keening to shrillness, and by the actual touch of a tail upon his arm. The touch was delicate but firm, interposing itself between Smith and the plants.

Smith fell back. “What in Space-” He had half reached for his blaster when Chouns said, “No cause for excitement; take it easy.”

Half a dozen of the creatures were now gathering about the two, offering stalks of grain humbly and gently, some using their tails, some nudging it forward with their muzzles.

Chouns said, “They're friendly enough. Picking a bloom might be against their customs; the plants probably have to be treated according to rigid rules. Any culture that has agriculture probably has fertility rites, and Lord knows what that involves. The rules governing the cultivation of the plants must be strict, or there wouldn't be those accurate measured rows…Space, won't they sit up back home when they hear this?”

The tail humming shot up in pitch again, and the creatures near them fell back. Another member of the species was emerging from a larger hut in the center of the group.

“The chief, I suppose,” muttered Chouns. The new one advanced slowly, tail high, each fibril encircling a small black object. At a distance of five feet its tail arched forward.

“He's giving it to us,” said Smith in astonishment, “and Chouns, for God's sake, look at it.”

Chouns was doing so, feverishly. He choked out, “They're Gamow hyperspatial sighters. Those are ten-thousand-dollar instruments.”

Smith emerged from the ship again, after an hour within. He shouted from the ramp in high excitement, “They work. They're perfect. We're rich.”

Chouns called back, “I've been checking through their huts. I can't find any more.”

“Don't sneeze at just two. Good Lord, these are as negotiable as a handful of cash.”

But Chouns still looked about, arms akimbo, exasperated. Three of the tailed creatures had dogged him from hut to hut-patiently, never interfering, but remaining always between him and the geometrically cultivated pale pink blossoms. Now they stared multiply at him.