"The Guest appears to be free of biologicals, true?" Rotterjack asked.

"So far," General Fulton said. "We're still testing."

"In short, it's not happening the way we thought it might," Crockerman said. "No distant messages in Puerto Rico, no hovering flying saucers, no cannon shells falling in the boondocks and octopuses crawling out."

Arthur shook his head, smiling. Crockerman had a way of coercing respect and affection from those around him. The President cocked one thick dark eyebrow at Harry, then Arthur, then briefly at McClennan. "But it is happening."

"Yessir," Fulton said.

"Mrs. Crockerman told me this would be the most important meeting of my life. I know she's right. But I am scared, gentlemen. I'll need your help to get me through this. To get us through this. We are going to get through this, aren't we?"

"Yes, sir," Rotterjack said grimly.

Nobody else answered.

"I'm ready, General." The President sat straight-backed in the chair and faced the dark window. Fulton nodded at the duty officer.

The curtain opened.

The Guest stood beside the table, apparently in the same position as when Arthur and Harry had left it the day before.

"Hello," Crockerman said, his face ashen in the subdued room light. The Guest, with its light-sensitive vision, could see them perhaps more clearly than they saw it.

"Hello," it replied.

"My name is William Crockerman. I'm President of the United States of America, the nation you've landed in. Do you have nations where you live?"

The Guest did not answer. Crockerman looked aside at Arthur. "Can he hear me?"

"Yes, Mr. President," Arthur said.

"Do you have nations where you live?" Crockerman repeated.

"You must ask important questions. I am dying."

The President flinched back. Fulton moved forward as if he were about to take charge, clear the room, and protect the Guest from any further strain, but Rotterjack put a hand on his chest and shook his head.

"Do you have a name?" the President asked.

"Not in your language. My name is chemical and goes before me among my own kind."

"Do you have family within the ship?"

"We are family. All others of our kind are dead."

Crockerman was sweating. His eyes locked on the Guest's face, on the three golden-yellow eyes that stared at him without blinking. "You've told my colleagues, our scientists, that this ship is a weapon and will destroy the Earth."

"It is not a weapon. It is a mother of new ships. It will eat your world and make new ships to travel elsewhere."

"I don't understand this. Can you explain?"

"Ask good questions," the Guest demanded.

"What happened to your world?" Crockerman said without hesitating. He had already read a brief of Gordon and Feinman's conversation with the Guest on this subject, but obviously wanted to hear it again, for himself.