ill compares to a piece of soft brass pipe.

"It would mean everything to us," Garlock assured him. "Our mission is a
perfectly friendly one. We will have a friendly visit or none. If you do
not care for our friendship, another nation will."

"That wouldn't do, either, of course." Entlore paused in thought. "It
boils down to this: I must either welcome you or destroy you."

"You may try." Garlock grinned in frankly self-satisfied amusement.
"However, the best you can do is lithium-hydride fusion missiles in the
hundreds-of-megatons range. Firecrackers. Every once in a while a planet
has to try a few such things on us before it will believe that we are
powerful as well as friendly. Would you like to test our defenses? If
so, I will neither take offense nor retaliate."

Supreme Grand Marshal Entlore was floored. "Why ... er ... not at all. I
read in your mind...." He broke off, to quell an invasion into his own
private office. "Damn it, keep _still_!" all four "heard" him yell. "I
know they ran a search pattern. I know _that_, too. I know _everything_
about it, I tell you! I'm in full rapport with their Supreme Grand
Admiral. There's only the one ship, they're friendly, and I'm inviting
them to land here on Margon Base. Give that to the press. Say also that
entrance restrictions to Margon Base will not be relaxed at present.
Grand Marshal Holson and ComOff Flurnoy, stay here and tune in. The rest
of you get out and _stay_ out! Throw all reports about any alien vessel
or flying saucer or what-have-you into the waste-basket!"

"Resume command, please, Miss Montandon," Garlock directed; and withdrew
his probe from Entlore's mind.

"I thank you, Supreme Grand Marshal Entlore, for your welcome," Lola
sent. "I'm sorry that our visits cause so much disturbance, but I
suppose it can't be helped. Our Gunther blocks are down. Would you and
your two assistants like to teleport out here to us, and con us down
yourselves?" Lola knew instantly that they could not, and covered deftly
for them. "But of course you can't, without knowing a focus spot here in
the Main. Shall I teleport you aboard?"

* * *

ComOff Flurnoy's face--she was an attractive, nicely-built red-head
wearing throat-mike, earphone, and recorder--turned so pale that a faint
line of freckles stood out across the bridge of her nose. She very
evidently wanted to scream a protest, but would not. Both men, strangely
enough, were eager to g