His oldest and dearest friend had become ancient, shrunken. Even Harry's eyes were dull, and the grip of his hot hand was weak.

A curtain had been stretched between Harry's bed and the room's other occupant, a heart patient who slept all during Arthur's visit.

Ithaca sat in a chair at Harry's right, face tightly controlled but eyes rimmed in sleepless red, hair drawn into a bun. She wore a white blouse and skirt with a reddish-brown sweater. She would never wear black, Arthur knew; not even to Harry's funeral.

"Glad you could come," Harry said hoarsely, his voice barely a whisper.

"I didn't think it would be so soon," Arthur said.

"Magic bullets missed their target." He gave a tiny shrug of his shoulders. "Status report: I'd cash in, but who stole my bag of chips?"

Simply talking tired Harry now. He closed his eyes and let go of Arthur's hand, withdrawing his slowly until it dropped to the sheet. "Tell me what's going on in the real world. Any hope?"

Arthur spoke of the conference and the objects within the Earth.

Harry listened intently. "Ithaca reads from the newspapers . . . I've been watching TV," he said when Arthur finished. "I finished my essay . . . about two days ago. Dictating. It's on tape." He pointed to a portable recorder on the nightstand. "Good thing, too. I can't concentrate now. Too many . . . ups and downs. Sons of bitches. Can no more will them away . . . than I can make myself healthy, huh?"

"I guess not," Arthur said.

"All the king's men." He drummed his fingers softly on the bed. "Anybody willing ... to kill Captain Cook?"

Arthur smiled, his cheek twitching.

"Hope. Let's hope." Harry rolled his head to one side, facing a framed poster of sequoias to the left of the window. "The essay is for you alone. I don't want it published. It's not my best work. Use it ... as you see fit." He closed his eyes. "Sometimes I don't know whether I'm dreaming or not. I wish I was dreaming now."

Arthur turned to Ithaca. "Harry and I have to speak alone for just a few minutes."

"All right," Ithaca said, with barely concealed resentment. She stood up and went into the corridor.

"Something juicy?" Harry asked, opening his eyes again.

"Do you remember when we were eleven, and I played that trick on you?"

"Which one?" Harry asked.

"I said I had been inhabited by a spaceman. That my body was being used to help investigate the Earth."

"Jesus," Harry said, shaking his head, smiling. "I'd forgotten about that one. You really took it to extremes."

"I was a kid. Life was dull."

"You spent three weeks acting like an alien whenever you were around me. Asking all sorts of weird questions, telling me about life on your planet."

"I never apologized for pulling that on you." Harry held up one hand.