Seated in chairs around the President's desk, the men listened intently as Arthur summed up the scientific findings. The Australians, both young and vigorous-looking, tanned in contrast to the pale features of the Americans around them, appeared serenely untroubled by what Arthur had just told them.

"In short, then," he concluded, "we have no reason to believe our Guest is being less than truthful. The contrast between our experiences is pretty sharp."

"That's true understatement," said Colin Forbes, the senior in age and rank of the two. Forbes was in his early forties, weathered and vigorous, with white-blond hair. He wore a pale blue sports coat and white slacks and smelled strongly of after-shave. "I can see what the fuss is about. Here we are, bringing a message of hope and glory, and your little green man tells you it's all a sham. I'm not sure how we can resolve the discrepancy."

"Isn't it obvious?" Rotterjack asked. "We confront your robots with what we've been told."

Forbes nodded and smiled. "And if they deny it all, if they say they don't know what the hell's going on?"

Rotterjack had no answer for that.

Gregory French, the junior Australian, with neatly combed and trimmed black hair and dressed in a standard gray suit, stood up and cleared his throat. He was obviously not comfortable in this high level of company. To Arthur, he looked like a bashful student.

"Does anybody know if there have been other bogeys? The Russians, the Chinese?"

"No information yet," Lehrman said. "That's not a negative. Just a temporary 'we don't know.'"

"I think if we're the only ones blessed or cursed, we should get the issue resolved before any public release," French said. "This could tear people apart. Standing between devils and angels."

"I agree," Arthur said.

"There are problems with waiting," Crockerman said.

"Pardon me, sir," McClennan broke in, "but the possibility of unofficial release is much less disturbing than the impact of . . ."He waved his hands energetically through the air. "The confusion. The fear. We're sitting on a real time bomb. Do you truly understand this, Mr. President?" he practically shouted. McClennan's frustration with the President had come to a painful head. The room was silent. The national security advisor's tone had been far stronger than anyone would have expected, coming from the cautious Carl McClennan.

"Yes, Carl," Crockerman replied, eyes half lidded. "I believe I do."

"Sorry," McClennan said, slumping slightly in his seat. French, still standing, seemed acutely embarrassed.

"All right," Forbes said, gesturing with an elegant flip of his finger for French to be seated. "We confront our bogeys. We'd better get on with it. Ì invite as many of your people as you can spare to return with us. And I think I'll recommend to Quentin that we start shutting the doors again. Fewer press reports. Does this seem reasonable?"

"Eminently," Rotterjack said.