You can’t get anywhere in Washington, D.C., without a coat and tie. Sure enough, Fox was in disguise, in a gray business suit and a tie that didn’t glare. It wouldn’t have fooled anybody. His shirt cuffs gave him away: they were much larger than his wrists. Lean as a ferret, with bony shoulders and fat-free muscle showing even in the hands and face, John Fox looked like he’d just walked out of a desert.

Roger worked his way out of the booth to shake his hand. “How are you, John? Have you heard the news?”

“Yeah.” They slid into the booth. “I’m surprised you’re here.”

For a fact, this wasn’t the day a militant defender of deserts could get the public’s attention! Roger had toyed with the idea of chasing after news of the “alien spacecraft.” But those who knew anything would be telling anyone who would listen, and he’d be fighting for scraps.

For a while Roger had wondered. Aliens, coming from Saturn. It didn’t make sense, and Roger was sure it was some kind of trick, probably CIA. When he tried to check that out, though, he ran into a barrage of genuine bewilderment. If there were any secrets hidden inside the President’s announcement, it was going to take a lot more than a few hours to find them. And John Fox had given Roger stories in the past.

So he said, “The day I skip an appointment with a known news source, you call the police, because I’ve been kidnapped. Now tell me what you’re doing in Washington. I know you don’t like cities.”

Fox nodded. “Have you heard what they’re doing to China Lake?” When Brooks looked blank, he amplified. “The HighBeam.”

For a moment nothing clicked. Then: of course, he meant the microwave receiving station. An orbiting solar power plant had to have a receiver. “It’s just a test facility. It’s only going to cover about an acre.”

“Oh. sure. And the orbiting power plant only covers about a square mile of sky, and won’t send down more than a thousand megawatts even if everything works. Roger, don’t you understand about test cases? if it works, they’ll do it bigger. They’ll cover the whole damn sky with silver rectangles. I like the sky! I like desert, too. This thing has to be stopped now.”

“I wonder if the Soviets won’t stop us before you do.”

“They haven’t yet.” Fox looked thoughtful. “All the science types say this thing isn’t a weapon. I wonder if the Russians believe

that?’

Roger shrugged.

“Anyway, I thought I’d better be here. Flew in on the red-eye last night. But nobody’s keeping appointments. Nobody but you.” He glanced up to see the waitress hovering. “Bacon burger. Tomato slices, no fries. Hot tea.”

“Chef’s salad. Heineken.” Brooks made notes, but mostly out of habit. Of course no one was keeping appointments! Aliens were coming to Earth. “They tell me it’ll be Clean power,” Roger said. “Help eliminate acid rain.”

Fox shook his head. “Never works. They get more power, they use more power. Look. They tell you an electric razor doesn’t use much power, right? And it doesn’t. But what about the power it took to make the damn thing? You use it a few years, maybe not that long, and Out it goes.

“The more electric power we get, the more they’re tempted to keep up the throw away society. No real conservation. Nothing lasts. Doesn’t have to last. Roger, no matter how clean they make it, it pollutes some. They’ll never learn to do without until they have to do without.”

“Okay.” Brooks jotted more notes. “So they’ll clutter up the deserts and block the stars and give us bad habits. What else is wrong with them?”

Roger Brooks listened halfheartedly as Fox marshaled his arguments. There weren’t any new ones. They weren’t what Roger had come for, anyway. Fox could argue, but the real stories would come from learning what tactics Fox intended to use. He had loyal troops, loyal enough to chain themselves to the gates of nuclear power plants or clog the streets of Washington. Fox had led the fight against the Sun Desert nuclear power plant, and won, and his tips had put Roger in the right place at the right time for good stories.

Not today, though. No one was listening to Fox today. Not even his friends.

Not even me, Roger thought. This wasn’t going to make any kind of news. Brooks was tempted to put away his notebook. Instead he said, “This could be just a puff of smoke tomorrow, or later today, for that matter. Have you thought about what an interstellar spacecraft might use for power? By the time the aliens stop talking, these orbiting solar plants could look like the first fire stick, even to us.”

Fox shook his head. “Hell we may not even understand what these ETI’s are using. Or maybe it’s worse than what we’ve got. Anyway, nothing changes that fast. Whatever that light in the sky does for us, the High-Beam is going ahead unless I stop it. And I intend to. I had an appointment with Senator Bryant. He canceled, for today, so I’ll just wait him out.”

Brooks jotted, “John Fox is the only man in the nation’s capital who doesn’t care beans about an approaching interstellar spacecraft.”

“Hell, I wish I had something more for you,” Fox said’. “Thought I did.”

“It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not,” Fox said. “You’re like me, Brooks. A nut. Monomaniac.” He held up his hand when Roger started to protest. “It’s true. I love my deserts, and you love snooping. Well, heft, I’d help you get a Pulitzer if I could. You’ve always played fair with me.” He chuckled. “But not today. Nobody’s paying attention to a damn thing but that ETI comin’. Do you really believe in that thing?”

“I think so. You know that army officer who was in Hawaii when they saw it coming? I know her. I just don’t think she’s part of anything funny. No, it’s real all right.”

“Could be.”

“There are a lot of scientists in the Sierra Club,” Roger said. “Any of them have an opinion?”

“On High-Beam? Damn right—”

“I meant on the ETI’s, John.”

Fox grinned. “I haven’t heard. I will, though, and I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Jenny surveyed her office with satisfaction. The furniture was battered. Fortunately, there wasn’t much of it, because if there’d been more, the office couldn’t have held it all. She had a desk with nothing on it but a telephone. There were also a small typing table, three chairs, and a thick-walled filing cabinet with a heavy security lock. They said they’d get her a bookcase, but that hadn’t come yet. Neither had the computer terminal.

The room was tiny and windowless, in a basement, but it was the White House basement, and that made up for everything.

The phone rang.

“Major Crichton,” she said.

“Jack Clybourne.”

“Oh. Hi.” He’d come in for coffee after he drove her home. They’d sat outside under Flintridge’s arbor, and when they noticed the time, two hours had passed. That hadn’t happened to her in years.

“Hi, yourself. I’ve only got a moment. Interested in dinner?”

Aunt Rhonda would expect her to eat at Flintridge. “What did you have in mind?”

“Afghan place. Stuffed grape leaves and broiled lamb.”

“It sounds great. But—”

“Let me call you after you get home. No big deal, if you can’t make it, I’ll go to McDonald’s.”

“You’re threatening suicide if I don’t have dinner with you?”

“I have to run. I’ll call you—”

“I haven’t given you the number,” she said. “How will you call?”

“We have our ways. Bye.”

She put the phone carefully on its cradle. Holy catfish, I’m actually light-headed. Stupid. I just need lunch. But I was thinking about him just before he called.

The private phone on Wes Dawson’s desk was hidden inside a leather box. It rang softly.

“Yes?” Carlotta said.

“Me.”

“How’s Houston?”

“Hot and wet and windy. I’m in the Hilton Edgewater, room 2133.”