Embarrassed, his face hot, Arthur approached the lip again and pointed his torch at the facets directly below. He thought of the Guest's triple sherry-colored eyes, protruding from the surrounding dusty gray-green flesh. What a nightmare. All of it. Day by day we learn and it means nothing, has no pattern. We are befuddled being befuddled. Deliberate.

He tried to subdue his unreasoning rage. Surely there were ways to bring a nuclear weapon into this chamber. Backpack nukes hadn't been manufactured for twenty years, and had never been field-tested. What else was in the arsenal that could be hauled into the chamber by one or at most two men?

Lieutenant Colonel Rogers knew. He had thought of just such a contingency before Arthur had broached the subject. His reaction—immediate, brusque—made that clear. If two were thinking of it, then others were, as well. How could they circumvent Crockerman's authority over all nuclear weapons?

What good would it do?

"I'd like to ask you a few more questions," he said, leaving the mike off. "Just between one human individual and whatever, whoever you are. Are we no more to you than a nest of ants? You go to the trouble to create an artificial being . . ." He was convinced of that, though the proof was not absolute. "You feed us two stories, maybe more. What are you telling the Russians in Mongolia? Are you telling them the universe is run on socialist principles? We thought, years past ... we thought the arrival of something like you would change us all. You've taken advantage of that. You seem to know us better than we know ourselves. Or are we just so simple you can predict our behavior? If you're superior, then why are you torturing us? How many civilizations have you destroyed?"

He did not expect an answer. The circular gray-faceted cathedral interior gloomed around him, silent and implacable, unreal despite his intense scrutiny.

"You're going to eat the Earth, and spit it out, and move on," he continued, his voice trembling. His rage was almost overwhelming; he wanted to smash things. With some haste, he retreated to the tunnel, to reach the outside before his decorum vanished completely and he wept in frustration.

Once through the twisted tunnel and standing in the desert sun, he immediately faced Rogers and two sergeants and weeping was again out of the question.

"Your red light has gone out," he said, doffing his gear. "Nothing else has changed."

"How did it feel, sir?" Rogers asked softly.

"Like I was of no consequence whatsoever," Arthur said.

The officer smiled grim agreement and helped him remove the camera.

PERSPECTIVE

New York Times editorial,

November 20, 1996: