The papers told him what General Narovchatov had already said. “I see,” Bondarev said. “I am to go to Baikonur.”

“Yes, Comrade Academician.” Grushin spoke respectfully. It was difficult to know what the man was thinking. He seemed perfectly in control of his face and his voice.

He brought a letter from General Narovchatov, inviting Marina and the children to Moscow, and enclosing the necessary travel permits. Marina would be pleased. “There is much unsaid here,” Bondarev said.

“Yes. I can explain,” Grushin said.

“Please.”

“General Narovchatov has become First Secretary of the Party.” Grushin said carefully. He paused long enough to allow the full weight of that to wash across Bondarev. “This will be announced within the week. The Politburo finds this alien ship a matter of some concern. Many of the marshals of the Soviet Union do not believe in aliens.”

“Then they think—”

“That this is a CIA trick,” Grushin said. “It cannot be.”

“I believe that. So does Chairman Petrovslciy.”

“And Comrade Trusov?”

Grushin shrugged. “You will understand that I do not often see the Chairman of the KGB however, I am informed that the vote of the Defense Council was unanimous, that a civilian scientist should command the preparations for receiving the aliens. You, Comrade.”

“So I was told. I confess I am not especially qualified.”

“Who is? I am trained as a diplomat. Yet what training is there, to meet with aliens from another star? But we must do what we must do.”

“Then you have been assigned as my deputy?” That would be common enough practice, to have a KGB officer as chief of staff to a project of this importance. Certainly the KGB would insist on having its agents high within the control organization.

“No, another will do that,” Grushin said. “My orders are to proceed to Kosmograd.”

“Ah. You are a qualified astronaut?”

“No, but I have been a pilot.” Grushin’s smile was thin. “Comrade Academician, I have been ordered by your father-in-law to trust you, to tell you everything I can. This is unusual. Stranger yet, Comrade Trusov himself instructed me to do the same.”

Strange indeed. So. The Politburo did take this alien craft seriously. Very seriously. And General Nikolai Narovchatov had said, “You will trust the man sent by KGB. As much as you trust any man from KGB.” What that could mean was not obvious.

“So,” Bondarev said. “What is there that I must know?”

“The military,” Grushin said. “Not all will cooperate, and not all will be under your command. You will need great skills at Baikonur to learn which marshals trust you and which do not. I need not tell you that this will not be easy.”

“No.” It was safe enough to say that much. Not more.

“It is also vital that the Americans do not learn the extent of our mobilization.”

“I see.” I see a great deal. Some of the marshals are out of control. They mobilize their forces regardless of the wishes of the Kremlin. The Americans can never be allowed to know this! “What else must I know?”

“The crew aboard Kosmograd,” Grushin said. “Who is there now, and whom we shall invite.”

“Invite—”

“Americans. They have already requested that we allow their people aboard Kosmograd when the alien ship arrives. The Politburo wishes your advice within three days.” He paused. “I think, though, that they will invite the Americans no matter what you say.”

“Ah. And if the Americans wish this, other nations will also.” He shrugged. “I do not know how many Kosmograd can accommodate.”

“Nor I, but I will tell you when I arrive there. As I will advise you of the personnel aboard. Of course you will also receive reports from Commander Rogachev.”

“A good man, Rogachev,” Bondarev said.

Grushin’s smile was crafty, like a peasant’s, although there was little of the peasant about the KGB man. “Certainly he has a legend about him. But he is not everywhere regarded as you regard him.”

“Why?”

“He is a troublemaker when he feels his mission is in danger. A fanatic about carrying out orders. Make no mistake, technically he is the best commander we have for Kosmograd.”

“But you doubt-doubt what? Surely not his loyalty?”

“Not his loyalty to the Soviet Union.”

“Ah.” There had been an edge to Grushin’s voice. Rogachev had not always shown proper deference to the Party. In what way is he a trouble-maker?”

Grushin shrugged. “Minor ways. An example. He has aboard Kosmograd his old sergeant, the maintenance crew chief of his helicopter during the Ethiopian conflict. This man lost both legs in the war. When it came time for this sergeant to be rotated back to Earth, Rogachev found excuses to keep him. He said that no better man was available, that it was vital to Kosmograd that this man remain.”

“Was he right?’

Grushin shrugged. “Again, that is something I will know when I arrive there. Understand, Comrade Academician. I am to be only a Deputy Commander of Kosmograd when I board. Thtsikova will be First Deputy. But I will report directly to you. If there is need, you may remove Rogachev from command.”

Bondarev nodded comprehendingly. Inside he was frightened.

I command this space station, but there are many technical matters. I will not know which are important and which are not. I require advice-but whose advice can I trust? He smiled thinly. That would be the dilemma faced by Chairman Petrovskiy and First Secretary Narovchatov. It is why I have been given this task.

It will be a great opportunity, though. At last, Pavel Bondarev thought, at last I can tell them where to aim the space telescope. And be able to see the pictures instantly.

It was a bright clear spring day, with brilliant sunshine, the kind of day that made it worthwhile living through Bellingham’s rainy seasons. The snow-crowned peaks of Mount Baker and the Twin Sisters stood magnificently above the foothills to the east. The view was impressive even to añative; it was enough to have Angelenos gawking. They stood near the old Bellingham city hail, a red brick castle complete with towers and Chuckanut granite, and alternately looked out across the bay to the San Juan Islands, then back to the mountains.

When Kevin Shakes saw a uniform coming toward them he wondered if something was wrong. His eyes flicked toward the truck-had he parked in the wrong place? A city kid’s reaction. In a small town like Bellingham you could park nearly anywhere you liked.

The uniform was brown, short-sleeved, decorated with badges and a gun belt. The man wearing it was three or four years older than Kevin’s eighteen. He was grinning and taking off his hat, showing fine blond hair in a ragged cut. “Hello. Miranda,” he called. “Is this the whole clan?”

“All but Dad and Mom.” Miranda was smiling, too. “Leigh, meet Kevin and Carl and Owen. We were just doing some shopping.”

Carl and Owen-thirteen and eleven, respectively, with identical straight brown hair but a foot’s difference in height between them-were looking mistrustfully at the uniformed man, who seemed mainly interested in Miranda. He said, “Looks like you bought out the store.”

Kevin said, “Well, maybe Miranda told you. we, don’t own the ranch all by ourselves. There are three other families, and they each own a fifth, and they’re all coming up for a vacation.”

“Won’t that be crowded?”

Kevin shrugged. Miranda lost a little of the smile. “Yeah. We’ve never done this before. The idea was to take turns, one week Out of five, a vacation spot, you know? But it never seems to work out that way. We’ve lucked out a lot. This time, well, maybe it’ll work out. The other families aren’t as big as we are. But I don’t know them very well.”

Miranda and the cop drifted away, and Kevin let them have their privacy. Later, when they were in the truck, he asked, “Who is he? How did you meet him?”