The way Crockerman spoke, like a child though using grown-up words, chilled Hicks to the bone. A friend had once spoken to Hicks in a similar tone in London in 1959; she had died by her own hand a month later.

"It is not realistic," he said.

"Is anything about this situation realistic?" Crockerman asked. Neither had done much more than push the food around on his plate.

Hicks took a bite. The omelet was cold. He ate it anyway, and Crockerman began to eat his. Neither spoke again until the plates were empty, as if engaged in a contest of silence. The waitress took the plates away and poured more coffee into Hicks's cup.

"I apologize," the President said, wiping his lips with the napkin and folding it on the table. "I've been rude with you. That's unforgivable."

Hicks mumbled something about the strain they were all under, and how it was understandable.

"You give me a kind of perspective, however," Crockerman said. "I can see, just watching your reaction, how others would react. This is a very difficult time, in more ways than one. I've had to interrupt my campaign schedule. The election is less than a month away. Timing is very important. I see I need to trim the rough edges from my phrases ..."

"Sir, it is not phrasing. It is perspective," Hicks said, his voice rising. "If you pursue these theories of cosmic recrimination, I can hardly imagine the damage you might cause."

"Yes. I see that."

Do you? Hicks asked himself. And then, examining Crockerman's suspicious, half-lidded expression, Yes, perhaps you do . . . but that won't stop you.

Chapter 17

17

October 9

Arthur unfolded a newspaper as the Learjet taxied across the runway. On a far apron, B-l bombers lined up, their sleek tan, gray, and green shapes obscured by a layer of early morning sea haze. It took a few seconds for him to focus on the headlines. His thoughts were still on Harry Feinman, and on the autopsy.

The Guest had no discrete internal organ structure. Stuffed within the thoracic cage was shell-pink tissue continuous except for occasional cavities, more like a brain than anything else. The head consisted of the Lexan-like articulated bone material, arranged in large solid masses, with no discernible central nervous system. Small nodes the size of BBs interrupted the continuity of the bone; they appeared to be made of some sort of metal, perhaps silver.

Harry would soon be undergoing his own probing and examination in Los Angeles.

The plane completed its taxi and began to accelerate down the runway, small jets screaming thinly beyond the insulated walls.

Arthur, focused on the newspaper. The front page headline read,

PRESIDENT ON SECRET

DEATH VALLEY VISIT

Details Unclear: May Be Related to Australian Aliens