Regulations provide

He went to the lock in front of the closed hangar and donned one of the coated steel, articulated joint suits which would enable him to enter the atmosphere of the ship. These were the uncomfortable outfits known as "barrel bottoms" in which it was sometimes necessary to work inside the foreign vessels. They would stand anything from a vacuum to a, hundred atmospheres pressure, and were completely noncorrosive in any liquid or gas that anyone had thought about to date.

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."

"Your name is well known throughout this and many other galaxies," said one of them. He couldn't tell which. The voice that spoke was not theirs, of course, but only the electromechanical reproducer of the instrument.

"We felt sure that you could repair our ship," continued the Neranian. "We have far to go, and one of us is sick. We cannot make use of our super-cee drive. We have been disappointed by the report of your technicians that they can find nothing wrong with the mechanism."

"Our tests show the super-cee to be operating." said Joe. "We thought perhaps it would be best to take the ship out for a trial run. You might be able to demonstrate the trouble better that way, however, we could possibly save time if you would allow a cerebral analogue check."

"This means mind reading — ?"

"Well ... not exactly -"

"I fear we cannot submit. We do not understand your meaning. The test is unfamiliar to us. You will, naturally, excuse our suspicions."

"Of course. But the test is based on a simple premise. In every race it has been found that the artifacts of the culture have analogous structures in the brain cells of the species. Very frequently, when we find a complex piece of equipment which we cannot analyse, we can discover its means of operation by means of analogues derived from the fundamental structure of the brain of the creating species."

The two Neranians were silent, as if conferring with each other for a moment. Then the voice came again. "We cannot permit it. We would prefer that you make a check flight."

Joe shrugged inside his suit. "As you wish."

The cerebropath was moved inside the ship. Joe and Litchfield went aboard with two young technicians named Barnes and Hamilton.

In the murky atmosphere of the ship, Joe was sure his suit was leaking. He would have sworn he could smell the foul stuff the Neranians lived in.

Must be getting old, he thought. He remembered when he was a kid and his father had taken him through the first ships from out of the distant galaxies. He remembered the kind, ugly faces of those first visitors he'd met. But it was just as well that that kind of thrill didn't last forever, he supposed. Nobody could live all his life on the high emotional plane he enjoyed when he was a kid.

The ship glided out of the open doors of the hangar under the guidance of the ground crew. It was towed far out beyond the shops to the desert testing-stand field.

Joe watched the Neranians' handling of the ship with a critical eye. "I thought you people always used your mensa," he said abruptly.

The two at the control panel seemed to stiffen, he thought afterwards. They hesitated, then one spoke, "We are trying to get away from them. It is cumbersome to depend on them. We have been trying a surgical technique to enable us to do without them."

Joe grunted. It didn't look as if they had been very successful. They were clumsy in their manipulation of the controls.