Turning back from the lake, Dev met his stare squarely. “Half the reason I’m here is to give voice to feelings.” He gestured at the Zimmers. “I don’t have your academic qualifications, or—” and he indicated first Reed, then Pavesi “—your status within the government. I’m an in-between, professionally as well as ethnically.”

Zimmer’s response was somber. “Your opinion carries as much weight here as that of any of us. Perhaps more. You are the only one of us with anything resembling expertise in the matter of first interspecies contact.”

The vote of confidence was uplifting, but Dev wasn’t buying it. “I’ve done some reading in an area that’s far more speculative than fact-based, that’s all. It’s all guesswork.” He looked over at the big man as the five of them and their escort started back toward the waiting vehicles. “All we can do is offer our best guesses as to what the aliens really are like, and what they truly want.”

“You mean,” said Pavesi, “besides corn and wheat?” It was meant to lighten an atmosphere that had grown increasingly solemn.

“No,” Zimmer declared firmly. “I don’t think we have to guess about possible other things. Vantolos promised to inform us tomorrow.”

Tomorrow, Dev thought as he climbed into a waiting Humvee. How many tomorrows did they have to look forward to? Was the alien presence really about nothing more than grains?

He pondered the question all the way back to the old wooden dock and on the fast transit back to the marina. Around the shuttle boat and its subdued military escort, pleasure seekers out for a day’s relaxation plied the bay in small watercraft. Humanity’s amazing ability to ignore the improbable, no matter how threatening, was verified by boaters’ and water-skiers’ ability to engage in ongoing recreation while only rarely glancing at the speck above the clouds that was the alien mothership.

There was a click as the hatch leading to the deck was opened. Reed led the way upward, out into the diffuse sunshine of the humid south Texas afternoon.

“I wonder what it will be? What else the aliens might want?” Conscious of the swirl of cheerful day-trippers at the marina, Katou-Zimmer kept her voice low. As much as was possible, their armed escorts blended into the crowd. “Bushels of diamonds?”

Dev looked dubious. “Diamonds are cheap. Easy to manufacture. All you need is heat and pressure. No, I have a feeling that just like their unexpected need for organic feedstock, they’ll ask for something totally unexpected.”

“More importantly,” said Reed, “what will they put forth in exchange? What kind of incredibly advanced technology will they condescend to offer us?”