He leaned back in his chair, away from the computer. Ever since his return, and that of his companions, there had been an unending succession of requests for interviews. Huge sums had been dangled in front of him if he would only write a book about his experiences. Having finally accepted one such proposal together with the usual ancillary media rights (if only to stanch the mind-numbing flow of offers), he now no longer had to worry about money. Despite his new financial independence, he had kept his job with NASA. Because that was what had always interested him as a child, had driven him as a student and young adult, and continued to inspire him now. You couldn’t buy the cosmos—but you could work with it.

Maybe, he kept telling himself, once the transfer of all those of Jewish descent and their relations who wished to emigrate had been accommodated, the Gadeu would decide to make regular visits. Perhaps one day they might even offer travel to those who were scientifically qualified. That possibility, however remote, was enough to keep him ensconced in his NASA job. The hope that someday, one day, he might once again fulfill his unfulfilled lifelong desire to journey among the stars. To meet other intelligent species, to view the landscapes of alien worlds, to study lifeforms that could only be imagined, to …

Bahkvas, he told himself. The Gadeu had come to Earth for a single purpose. Once that had been realized, they would vanish back into the cosmos. Back to their own sane homeworlds. No reason to linger in the vicinity of a crazy place called Earth, even if it had given birth to their beneficently seized ancestors. Earth would find itself alone once more. He would be alone once more. Alone with the internet, and his computer, and his friends who didn’t understand.

He wished he could be more like Reed. Reed was his friend. They had been through remarkable things together. But they were different people, with different desires and aspirations and goals. They didn’t …

There was someone at the door. Another reporter, or another businessman with a pitch for a joint venture, or another crackpot wanting to know when and where the Gadeu, the aliens, were going to start the real invasion: the one for which the Rothschilds had so plainly prepared the way. Leaning forward, he switched to the feed from the building’s new security cameras which he had gladly paid to have installed. As soon as he saw the image on his home screen, he sat up straight and nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to admit the visitor.