r. Will you have this beam switched to Astrogation, please?"

"Of course. And thanks, Captain. I'll see you at White Sands."

Then, as the now positively glowing Gordon faded away, Sawtelle turned
to his own staff. "Fenway--Snowden--take over. Better double-check
micro-timing with Astro. Put us into a twenty-four-hour orbit over White
Sands and hold us there. We won't go down. Let the load down on remote,
wherever they want it."

* * * * *

The arrival of the Ardvorian superdreadnought _Orion_ and the _UC-1_
(Uranexite Carrier Number One) was one of the most sensational events
old Earth had ever known. Air and space craft went clear out to
Emergence Volume Ninety to meet them. By the time the _UC-1_ was coming
in on its remote-controlled landing spiral the press of small ships was
so great that all the police forces available were in a lather trying to
control it.

This was exactly what Hilton had wanted. It made possible the completely
unobserved launching of several dozen small craft from the _Orion_
herself.

One of these made a very high and very fast flight to Chicago. With all
due formality and under the aegis of a perfectly authentic Registry
Number it landed on O'Hare Field. Eleven deeply tanned young men
emerged from it and made their way to a taxi stand, where each engaged a
separate vehicle.

Sam Bryant stepped into his cab, gave the driver a number on Oakwood
Avenue in Des Plaines, and settled back to scan. He was lucky. He would
have gone anywhere she was, of course, but the way things were, he could
give her a little warning to soften the shock. She had taken the baby
out for an airing down River Road, and was on her way back. By having
the taxi kill ten minutes or so he could arrive just after she did.
Wherefore he stopped the cab at a public communications booth and dialed
his home.

"Mrs. Bryant is not at home, but she will return at fifteen thirty," the
instrument said, crisply. "Would you care to record a message for her?"

He punched the RECORD button. "This is Sam, Dolly baby. I'm right behind
you. Turn around, why don't you, and tell your ever-lovin' star-hoppin'
husband hello?"

The taxi pulled up at the curb just as Doris closed the front door; and
Sam, after handing the driver a five-dollar bill, ran up the walk.

He waited just outside the door, key in hand, while she lowered the
stroller handle, took off her hat and by long-established habit reached