Nobody.

SHE SLEPT WELL, got up late, showered, ate a light breakfast, and sat talking quietly with Jon. He was, in some ways, still a kid. He was already wondering what he could do for an encore after the Locarno. “It’s going to be all downhill from here,” he said, laughing.

“It’s not a bad thing,” she told him, “to achieve something so monumental that it might not be possible to do something even bigger.”

He was seated beside her in the common room. He looked relaxed, happy, almost smug. “I know,” he said. “The problem is that, had Henry not been there, it would never have happened. I mean, this isn’t something I can actually take credit for. He did the breakthrough work. All I did was rearrange the circuits.”

“But you seem to have been the only one who could do that, Jon. You’ll get a lot of credit. And you’re doing exactly the right thing, handing it off to Henry. He deserves it. But that doesn’t diminish what you’ve accomplished.”

HUTCH AND MATT maneuvered the ships into position and began the crossing. They were side by side, less than a kilometer apart. The event would be visible from the ground for at least forty minutes.

“Phyl,” said Hutch, “make the call.”

Mr. Smith picked up on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“Mr. Smith,” said Hutch, “I talked with you last evening. Do you have your telescope?”

“You’re back again? What did you say your name was?”

“I don’t think I gave it.”

“Well, whoever you are, I’d be grateful if you would leave me alone.”

“Please go to the window, Mr. Smith. And look at the moon.” While they waited, Phyl commented that he was making sounds that she could not interpret.

“He’s grumbling,” said Jon.

“Okay, I’m at the window.”

“You can see the moon?”

“Yes. I can see the moon.”

“Do you have a telescope? A lens of some kind?”

“Look, whoever you are, is this really necessary?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I don’t have a lens.”

“Yesterday you said you did.”

“I thought you’d go away.”

“Mr. Smith, you’re aware there are transmissions coming into this planetary system from outside? From other places?”

There was a pause. Then: “Yes. Of course.”

“Those signals are what brought us here. We’d like to talk with you about them.”

“Look, the joke’s over. I’m too busy for this.”

“My name is Priscilla Hutchins. How can we prove to you that we are what we say?”

Phyl’s voice broke in: “Hutch, I’ll have to make up a name for you. He wouldn’t be able to pronounce yours. Especially Priscilla.”

“Do it, Phyl. Whatever works.”

Rudy and Antonio were watching her. Rudy was acquiring a desperate look. Antonio wore a cynical smile. Things always go wrong.

“Priscilla.” Smith was speaking again. “The only way I can think of would be to bring your starship down, park it on my lawn, and let me walk around it and kick the tires.”

Hutch sank back in her chair. “I may have improvised a bit with the language on that one,” said Phyl.

Rudy stared at the overhead. “Maybe we should try someone else.”

“This guy’s a physicist,” said Antonio. “If you can’t get through to him, what chance do you think you’d have with a plumber?”

“I think,” said Jon, “anyone would be skeptical. How would you react to this kind of situation?”

“Mr. Smith,” said Hutch, “are you willing to concede the possibility that we might be what we say we are?”

“Good-bye.” And suddenly, the line was clear.

“He disconnected,” said Phyl.

Hutch nodded. “Yeah, I got that impression.”

“So what do we do now?” asked Matt.

“I guess we have to get his attention.”

“Are we thinking the same thing?”

“Probably.”

“Do we do it in daylight?”

“No. It’ll be more spectacular at night.”

THE CITY SPREAD out below them. It was on the western coast of Mr. Smith’s continent, mountains behind it, a large developed harbor, ships moving in and out, a busy airport several kilometers to the north, where the mountains were lower. There was lots of ground traffic and a couple of dirigibles.

Everything was laid out in squares, a chessboard city, glowing with lights. It gave the appearance of having been designed rather than simply having expanded from something smaller. A cluster of tall buildings rose near the waterfront area, although large structures were scattered throughout. There were parks, a river, and even a couple of small lakes. The air looked clean.

The moon was in the east. It was a bright, clear night, the sky full of stars.

They came in off the sea, both landers barely two hundred meters off the ground, moving slowly, not quite seventy kph, far slower than a standard aircraft could maintain. They passed over a cluster of piers and buildings that were probably warehouses, and over an avenue filled with traffic. At Hutch’s word, they switched on their navigation lights and turned north.

They flew over rooftops and past illuminated buildings. The architecture had a more liquid flow than cities at home. Maybe it was because she was passing overhead at night, but everything seemed rounded, curved, peeling away into the dark. She picked out the broadest, busiest street she could find and led them there. They moved in just above the traffic, drawing the startled attention of pedestrians.

The creatures resembled hobgoblins. They were small, barely half her height, with slick gray skin, enormous eyes set back where a human’s temples would have been, and thick limbs. There was a lack of definition about them, no jawline, no clearly defined throat, no ears. She tried to persuade herself they were not really repulsive, but her instincts responded differently.

She came to a full stop in front of a transit vehicle, a bus, just starting a turn. The bus jammed on its brakes, and the creatures inside lurched toward the front.

Matt pulled in behind her, back about twenty meters, and the landers simply floated in midair, defying gravity.

A truck banged into a car.

Something jangled. How about that? They even had horns.

Everything was coming to a dead stop.

“Okay, Matt,” she said, “let’s move on.”

THEY CRUISED AROUND the city, creating mayhem. “What would your Academy people have said about this?” asked Matt, as they floated over a broad avenue.

“They wouldn’t have approved.”

“It’s in a good cause.”

“I know. It wouldn’t have mattered.”

“Who would have denied permission?”

“I would.”

Phyl broke in: “You’ve made the newscasts.”

“What are they saying?”

“‘Unknown objects create havoc in Baltimore.’ ‘Airborne objects float over Baker Street.’ ‘Apparitions cause traffic jam.’”

“You’re making up the proper nouns.”

“I have to.”

“At least you could have picked a West Coast city.”

“I’ll try to get it right next time, Ms. Hutchins.”

“You think that’ll do it?” asked Matt.

“That should be sufficient. Let’s go home.”

MR. SMITH PICKED up on the first ring. “Was that you in Seattle last night?”

Phyl had apparently taken the hint. “Yes. That was us.”

“All right. You made your point. I’ll talk to you.”

“How do we find you?”

“I live on the outskirts of Denver.”

“Describe the place. We have no familiarity with your world other than what we can see.”

“It’s on the same continent as Seattle. Proceed—” Here the translation garbled.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Smith. We don’t understand your directional terms.”

“Proceed toward the sunrise. Two-thirds of the distance across the continent. And a little bit down—”