hat he was really in poor shape, but he certainly
couldn't have argued with eight men like these.

"Come in," he said calmly, waving them into the apartment.

Six of them entered. The other two stayed outside in the hall.

Five of the six remained standing. The leader took the chair that
McLeod offered him.

"What are your questions, Mr. Jackson?" McLeod asked.

Jackson looked very slightly surprised, as if he were not used to having
people read the name on his card during the short time he allowed them to
see it. The expression vanished almost instantaneously. "Professor," he
said, "we'd like to know what subjects you discussed with the Galactic who
just left."

McLeod allowed himself to relax back in his chair. "Let me ask you two
questions, Mr. Jackson. One: What the hell business is it of yours?
Two: Why do you ask me when you already know?"

Again there was only a flicker of expression over Jackson's face.
"Professor McLeod, we are concerned about the welfare of the human
race. Your ... uh ... co-operation is requested."

"You don't have to come barging in here with an armed squad just to
ask my co-operation," McLeod said. "What do you want to know?"

Jackson took a notebook out of his jacket pocket. "We'll just get a
few facts straight first, professor," he said, leafing through the
notebook. "You were first approached by a Galactic four years ago, on
January 12, 1990. Is that right?"

McLeod, who had taken a cigarette from his pack and started to light
it, stopped suddenly and looked at Jackson as though the U.B.I. man
were a two-headed embryo. "Yes, Mr. Jackson, that is right," he said
slowly, as though he were speaking to a low-grade moron. "And the
capital of California is Sacramento. Are there any further matters of
public knowledge you would like to ask me about? Would you like to
know when the War of 1812 started or who is buried in Grant's Tomb?"

Jackson's jaw muscles tightened, then relaxed. "There's no need to get
sarcastic, professor. Just answer the questions." He looked back at
the notebook. "According to the record, you, as a zoologist, were
asked to accompany a shipment of animals to a planet named ... uh ...
Gelakin. You did so. You returned after eighteen months. Is that
correct?"

"To the best of my knowledge, yes," McLeod said with heavy, biting
sarcasm. "And the date of the Norman Conquest was A.D. 1066."

Jackson balled his fists suddenly and closed his eyes. "Mac. Loud.
_Stop