Evening crept across the sky. I sat there watching the shadows lengthen and wondered again how we were going to make it through the jungle to our rendezvous with the ship. Chirt and Trill seemed confident that they could handle anything out there, but the thought of the unknown had me on edge.

We’d had a pleasant meal using the same synthesizer technology that I’d appreciated on the trip from earth. Chirt and Trill proved to be good company, both more lighthearted than Mr. Whittleby, and more forthcoming about things which I wanted to know.

They’d shared with me that they were “lifemates” and came from a small star on the far side of the galaxy they called Krit. I found  it hard not to think of them as “Kritters” after that, and hoped that if the translation device picked it up that they wouldn’t mind the pun. They were delighted to hear of earth and about life there and I found it easy to tell them about it. So easy in fact, that I barely had presence of mind to ask them about their own world.

From what we had time to talk about I came to understand that life on Krit was as varied as life on Earth. Kritter life formed on a planet somewhat larger than Earth, but about as dense due to an abundance of lighter minerals. Iron was in short supply, while titanium was plentiful. Their scientists had determined that the most common elements in their planetary core were titanium, vanadium and chromium with lesser amounts of the heavier metals interspersed throughout.

I found it interesting that their blood still used iron based hemoglobin like ours, but that iron was in such poor quantities on their planet that many forms of life adapted to a nickel based hemoglobin, which was more common than copper.

Theirs was the fourth planet out from their star, and they called  it “First Twin” referring to the similarity between it and the fifth planet out which they called “Second Twin”. No life had formed on Second Twin before the Kritters had learned space travel, but that changed quickly when they colonized it, conditions being suitable for it. First and second twins orbited Krit never more than a couple of million miles  distant from each other at their apogee.

The next time I glanced out the evening had passed and it was dark and quiet. Chirt and Trill noticed it about the same time as I did and rose together, breaking off an explanation about the differences between their culture and that of Nardis where we were now.

“My, it’s getting late! We need to get going if we’re to get eaten in time for our escape,” Trill exclaimed.

“I hope you aren’t being prophetic!” I responded.

“From the Nardisians point of view, it’s exactly what we want them to think happened to us,” Chirt replied. We must leave them every reason to believe we’ve been devoured, and our ship leaves empty and pilotless.”

As we walked out the door Trill put their security devices on the stand by the window viewer. The door closed behind us as we left and we crossed the clear area rapidly, and entered the jungle. Night went from dark to pitch as we entered the canopy of trees. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. Trill was behind me guiding me ahead while Chirt went before  finding our path.

When Chirt felt we had gone far enough into the jungle to be safe from view back in the clearing he pulled out a portable light and we proceeded further into the jungle. The silence was strange to me. I’d have expected the noise of insects and other creatures of the night.
 
Chirt followed no discernable path. The road was far behind us if I wasn’t too twisted around in my directions. Trill whispered to me that silence was our friend tonight and that noise could be like ringing the dinner bell to a hungry predator. Both walked quietly and were especially alert. I had no idea what kind of beasts existed on this planet, so knew little of our danger, content to leave the worrying to my guides. I hoped their ears and noses were more sensitive than mine.

As my eyes grew more accustomed to the dark, I realized that the  trees had a faint phosphorescent sheen which seemed unrelated to Chirt’s light.  The deeper into the jungle we went the more I seemed to see it until it became fairly easy to make out the trees by their glow. Chirt shut off the light, and together we walked by tree glow. I found it easier to navigate without the light, once I got accustomed to it, and there was so little undergrowth that it was fairly easy going.

We’d been walking for about an hour or so when we came to a very definite trail. The path had been beaten clear and was worn down to the bedrock in places. The trail was easily twelve to fifteen feet wide.

Chirt stopped and motioned us to wait. He took out his light and pressed a button on the side. A viewscreen unfolded from the side and Chirt turned a complete circle as he pointed in all directions. No visible beam of light could be seen, so I assumed he must be scanning in infrared.

He seemed satisfied after a while and motioned us to come on.  We crossed the trail without incident and continued on into the jungle. We hadn’t been past the trail more than a minute or two when we heard something clomping along the trail behind us. Whatever it was, it was big, and sounded like a herd of horses. The beat of its feet were both more muffled, and more rapid than a horse’s, and carried a deeper vibration, making the ground shake.

Chirt stopped us immediately and took out his light and began to scan the area as he had done at the trail crossing. He seemed concerned and  motioned us to follow him. We began to make a circling motion, heading toward the general direction where the creature was coming from. I realized that Chirt was trying to circle around behind it.

I wanted to ask questions, but didn’t dare. What kind of beast were we trying to avoid? How dangerous was it? Is it fast? Is it possible to hide from it if it overtakes us? These questions and more were running through my mind as we continued to circle around the beast.

For a time I thought we might succeed in giving it the slip. We seemed to get farther from the noise of it’s passage, and the sound of it was fading into the trees. Soon though, we realized that it was following us. We could hear it forging a trail through the trees behind us crashing heavily along its way.

All manner of scenarios were running through my mind when I heard the first tree come down. It wasn’t just a branch breaking along the way, this creature took out a tree, and kept on coming. When the second tree came down I decided that we couldn’t possibly make more noise that what the beast was already making so I decided to voice my concerns. To put it simply, I was terrified.

“It’s on our trail, and gaining on us. I hope you guys have a good plan, because this thing seems pretty determined to get us, and whatever it is it’s big,”  I shouted. The noise of its passage was getting almost too loud to talk over.

“We’ve signaled the ship. In a few minutes we’ll be teleported  up,” Trill replied.

“I hope we have a few minutes! I’d hate to make it all the way to this thing’s mouth before being rescued. Somehow, I don’t think it has a tender grip!”

“Up ahead,” Chirt replied “is a good place to wait. We’ve almost made it back to its trail.”

“Why get on its trail now when we took such pains to avoid it earlier?” I asked.

“It senses our smell,” Chirt explained. “We’re going to get on its trail to mingle our scents and confuse it. It will still be able to follow us, but will proceed  more slowly as it sorts out our path.”

Almost as he spoke we emerged back on the cleared trail we had crossed earlier. The beast was getting close now. The treetops were crashing down within a few hundred yards of us and the creature’s passage felt like an incessant earthquake.

Chirt led the way down the trail at a brisk trot, and I had a hard time keeping up. We ran up the trail following the evidence of it’s recent passage. The trail looked like a herd of giant buffalo had just stampeded through it. I was beginning to get winded. My lungs were burning, my legs began to feel like lead, and I couldn’t seem to get enough air. I was running on nothing more than adrenaline now.

We turned off the main trail just as the beast crashed through the last of the trees next to the trail behind us. Ahead of us the jungle looked like a tornado had cut a new path. The road was wide, and curved in a broad arc roughly along the path we’d just taken to avoid our pursuer. On each side of the trail downed trees were tangled with the living. No branches  lay across the path. Where branches had been they were cut cleanly through  as though sawed or bitten and either tossed aside or thrown far out of sight,  for there were none lying on the trail. The beast had not even left chips behind in its wake, just bare trampled ground.

I barely noticed that the downed trees were losing their phosphorescence as I fought to keep up with Chirt and Trill. Behind me I could hear the onward moving stampede of the unknown hunter, continuing on our trail. No trees were crashing down now. There was no need.

I didn’t dare look back for fear that it would slow me down. Still  I was winded badly, and didn’t have too much run left in me. I had spent too many years behind a desk, and my inactivity was teaching me a brutal  lesson about the need for self discipline.

Chirt and Trill halted in front of me. They were still about fifty  yards distant. I was so out of breath that it might as well have been a mile.  I felt like I was running in slow motion. The sounds of my pursuer grew closer. Chirt removed the portable light from his pocket, aiming it in my general direction, and a little above me. I was about thirty feet from them when he turned it on.

There was only the slightest hint of ultraviolet coming from it. It projected a fairly tight beam over my head. I realized that it must be an ultraviolet laser at about the same time as the creature behind me realized it too, much to its discomfort.

The sound of its agony nearly deafened me, though it was still a few hundred yards behind. I turned around to look and wished immediately that I hadn’t. Some nightmares are better off left to our dreams.

It stood nearly thirty feet tall, and had more legs than I could count in the gloom of the treelight. Two large dangling appendages hung in front with pincers larger than a fully grown bull. Each looked capable of crushing any of these trees in half and probably had done so. Long feelers with flat ovoid pads extended to the ground. They were evidently its sensory organs used to smell its way along its trail.

It had a bony carapace with sharp horny projections sticking out on all sides. I was unable to see much of its rear as it tapered off into the gloom. Its most intimidating feature aside from its sheer size and armor plated appearance were its massive pincers. Little could I see of its mouth, or I’d have revised my estimate of the threat even more in its favor.

It didn’t wait long for me to stand there and gawk as I caught my breath. The earthquake resumed as dozens of pile driver legs hammered the ground in a frantic race to devour an easy meal ... me. I started backing up and realized I could run quicker if I turned around about the same time as another beam of ultraviolet pierced the air above me, striking the creature between the hanging sensory pads.

It stopped immediately and bellowed a roar of frustration that shook the air. It’s claws waved madly and its feelers touched the injured area a moment, as though to assess the damage. The earthquake resumed as the beast began backing away, then stopped and began touching each individual leg pair separately.

I watched in amazement as it began to quiver and segment itself  into smaller portions. Its carapace had resembled a thistle, but now it fractured along lines of cleavage that I couldn’t see in the dimness. Each fragment of the creature pulled away into a separate entity, smaller but no less threatening, with four legs, a spiked carapace, and a clawed front. As they separated they scrambled for the safety of the woods and began to circle around us.

I turned around and ran to catch up to Chirt and Trill. I was unable to read their emotions so didn’t know if they were worried yet, but  I certainly was. As I got to them I saw the building glow of the energy field  surrounding them, and in a blue flash they were gone.
 
For a brief moment I was stunned, but circumstances didn’t leave me the luxury of giving in to my feelings. I could hear the rustling of the creatures surrounding me, all moving in closer. Behind me, still creeping in, was the remaining portion of the main body of my attacker. It was moving in on me using its huge pincers to pull itself along.

The rustling noises drew closer and soon I could see shadowed creatures  creeping from the surrounding trees. All of them had a hooked claw in front which looked viciously sharp. Their feelers were fully extended in front of them, probing for any hint of a scent as they closed in on me, ever tightening the ring.

Even one of them alone would have been nearly invincible, together they represented certain death. I found myself wondering why I’d been betrayed. Almost certainly Chirt and Trill had played some game of their own, leaving me to my fate.

No branches hung low enough for me to climb my way out. The  pincers of the main attacker made that only a temporary option anyway. The  ring had now tightened to a solid phalanx of approaching chitin, hooks and feelers waving. They were only about fifteen feet away when the air glowed blue again and blinded me with a bright glare that subsided to reveal the machined interior of a small star cruiser. Chirt and Trill stood there awaiting me, apparently glad to see me in one piece.

Back on Nardis, the remains of three unrecognizable carcasses were being mercilessly hooked and torn to shreds. By the time the meal was consumed and the great beast reassembled, only microscopic remains would be left. Genetic information would show that Chirt, Trill, and myself had been eaten, though our actual demise was an act of fiction. I learned later that in the instant that I’d been teleported to the ship, my duplicate had been created and dumped, along with those of Chirt and Trill.

The matter teleporter could both transport living creatures, and duplicate organic matter, but could not duplicate life, thus could not duplicate a living creature. It could however replicate the exact physical form so that genetically everything matched. Life is apparently so elusive that it can’t be duplicated under any circumstances.  The creature below was feasting on a dead facsimile, but real enough to eat. Also real enough to fool anyone who looked closely enough, or at least to cause great room for doubt. Therein lay our hope of escape. If the Nardisians were fooled into believing our ship was empty, departing under autopilot, we might have a chance of getting away cleanly.

At the moment I was too busy enjoying my reprieve to worry much about how I’d escaped. Chirt and Trill were practically falling over themselves in an effort to make me feel better about my narrow escape.

“We hope you didn’t think we’d abandoned you to your fate,” Trill exclaimed as he attempted to explain why it had taken them so long to rescue me.

 “We had to reprogram the matter teleporter to match your configuration before we could bring you up. Our ship has never had you on board before, so we had to introduce you first. Rather than send a scanning  signal down which would have given you away, we removed the virus from  Pralt’s computer, and took your configuration from that downsend command.  You should feel congratulated. You are the first human to become several  hours younger rather than older.”

“What do you mean I’ve just become several hours younger?” I asked.

Chirt explained further, “Our program picked you up as you were when you were downsent from the mothership. You’ve aged since then. A scanning beam would have sent you as you are now. Instead we had to take the risk of losing some data and upsend you here as you were when you arrived in Pralt’s castle. Thus your body has not aged since you left the mothership. It was the only way we could rescue you undetected.”

“Well, its not exactly the elixir of youth. I don’t suppose you could knock off a few more years could you?” The thought intrigued  me.

Trill sighed in a perfectly human response, “No, the biological differences would be too great. The process would likely kill you. A few hours itself was a great enough risk. Better the chance of death than certain doom.”

“I had momentary visions of getting rich. Thank you for restoring my sanity,” I replied.

“If I am as I was when I arrived at the warehouse, why can I remember all that has taken place since then? My memories should stop at the moment of transition at my downsending.”

“We had the foresight to add the nullifier data to the transporter signal. It kept your memories intact, since it has basically recorded all your thoughts since you arrived,” Trill replied.

“How do you plan to sneak us out of here now that we’ve made it aboard your ship?”

“We covered our upsend by a simultaneous transmission from Nardis relaying a call to all receivers for immediate aid. The upsend beam  was part of a scrambled transmission which is routinely sent to the mother ship in time of distress. If the Nardisians manage to unscramble the message  at all it will only show our final communication as a plea for rescue from an armorspider.”

“How did you hide my data retrieval from your virus program?” I asked.

“That was easier because our ship was programmed to pull any files away from Nardis that could be incriminating in the event that something were to happen to us. Our distress signal would have triggered the pullout sequence automatically had we not done so ourselves, or told it to abort first. No matter where they look, the Nardisians will find a very plausible explanation for our absence, and the conclusion that we have all indeed been destroyed by the armorspider will be hard to disprove.”

“Well, if you are going to get eaten by something, I guess it’s better to know what to call it. I didn’t even know what that thing was until now. How do you plan to disguise our escape from orbit?’

“In exactly four fractals of our time scale our ship will automatically disengage from orbit and initiate its autoreturn sequence. We have set the shields to absorb all incoming scanner energy. We would be invisible to all modes of scan, but that would defeat our purpose. When the ship is scanned, it will retransmit a false signal showing that the holds are indeed empty, and continue doing so until we’re out of range. They will not be able to tell the difference between our rebroadcast and their signal, for we have set it up to appear as if our shield is weak and leaking out the true picture in spite of our efforts at concealment. It should be convincing enough to all interested parties that no further efforts are made to query about our presence.”

“Well I hope it works. How long is four fractals anyway?”

“Right about now,” Chirt replied.. Even as he spoke, the ship began to hum and I felt momentarily disoriented as it nudged away from orbit and headed toward the depths of space.

“Shields functioning, max power,” Trill noted as he followed the readouts that flashed incomprehensibly across the screen. Detecting a surface scanner locked on, signal generator operating normally.”

“How long to transition?.” Chirt asked.

“One hundred fractals. I’m configuring for... what was that?” Trill sat forward excitedly interrupting himself in haste.

“Ships launched. It looks like two Rigel class probes following in our wake. They appear to be overtaking us.” Chirt observed.

“What’s going on?” I asked rather stupidly.

They ignored me as they kept abreast of the developing situation.  As I realized that we were being pursued it began to dawn on me that we  were in a situation they hadn’t planned on.

“Probes scanning in alpha mode, signal generator still functioning normally. Meson beacons launched, continuing to overtake us.” Trill palmed the screen bringing another readout to the fore and announced, “Ten fractals to transition, eleven to rendezvous with meson beacons.”

“Does that mean we’ll escape,” I asked hopefully.

“It means that we’ll draw them in after us and they’ll still be able to attach themselves to our hull.”

“Initiating repulsor sequence. Transition in six fractals..”

“Initiator resonating. Transition sequence in final download.”

My world shifted. I felt a queasy lurch and then a very nauseating sense of vertigo. It passed as abruptly as it began, and somehow I managed not to be sick. I realized that Mr. Whittleby’s ship must have been a luxury model, because I never felt such a sensation on his ship.

“Meson beacons still following. Repulsor field operating. Preparing to diverge.”

The screen showed a pear shaped object intersecting our path,  and even as I watched, it headed rapidly for the hull and then inexplicably veered away maintaining a parallel course.

“Repulsor field in operation. Preparing decoy.”

“Launch decoy, standard emission range.”

A small orb emerged in the viewscreen and attached to the beacon. It gradually began to pull away from us until it was no longer in sight without magnification. The second beacon could be seen trailing along  behind as they gradually moved away at an angle to us.

Chirt and Trill seemed to be a little more at ease now and began to explain what had just happened.

“They launched a tracker. The Rigel class probes were intended to stop us from transition. Had they been able to get close enough they could have disrupted our transition sequence by projecting an image of distorted space in front of our sensors. Our system would have been confused just long enough to be forced to abort the transition sequence. In normal space they could have overtaken us long enough to nullify our shields and launch a boarding party,” Chirt told me.

“Why do that if they thought our ship was empty?” I asked.

“You forgot something about them... they are first and foremost pirates. I have no doubt that they were fooled now. They wanted our ship. Being empty, they could have claimed salvage rights. It would have made a great prize, indeed greater than they suspected,” Chirt explained.

“Did you expect them to follow us?” I asked. It seemed beyond belief that they could have planned it out this carefully.

“No one can foresee every possibility, but we did have a contingency plan in case they tried to investigate further, or take over the ship. Our simulated shield leak allowed enough of our autopilot instructions to filter through that in the event we had to take evasive action it would seem to have been preprogrammed.”

“Where are we going now? Are we going back to Mr. Whittleby  and the mothership yet?”

“Not yet. We need to let the ship finish its course. We’re on our way to Krit. Our ship must return to our homeworld for the loss of life inquiry, and disposition of our possessions. It’s the normal thing to do, and again lends credence to our cover.”

“We have one other matter which we must resolve before we arrive there. You recall that we’re doing this because of what you witnessed in Pralt’s storeroom. We need to make a permanent record of your observations. Would you mind giving us your cooperation for a bit and let us record what you saw?”

“I’ll be glad to help, but I’m not sure how much help I can be.  Human memories can be notoriously inaccurate and unreliable. I forget the simplest things in the course of a normal day. I don’t know how I could possibly remember enough to be useful to you about things which I don’t understand,” I replied.

“That won’t be a problem. Our translators can access any area of your memory and make a permanent record of it,” Trill explained. “All we need you to do is think about the experience and try to visualize what you saw. Once our translator locks onto your thought process it can retrieve the memory in its entirety.”

“Don’t you have a record already? After all, you restored my missing memory using your nullifier. Can’t you just do a playback?”

“We could, except that when we did a memory dump from the nullifier as you call it, we used up our only chance to play it back. We couldn’t be choosy about how we did it and chose the dump option, which wiped the memory molecules free.”

“I see. Well, when can we start?” I wasn’t enthusiastic about it but wanted to get on with it.

“Now would be fine. Just think about what you saw in the catalogue room and we’ll take it from there.,” Trill replied.

I thought back to when I’d asked the computer how to demo a downsend command. I remembered the surprise I felt when the matter transporter energized and I emerged in the warehouse. As I began to remember my feelings I felt as though I was reliving the experience. I could see the crates clearly, still as mystifying as ever, their writing still undecipherable.

I remember my awe at the size of the room and my urgent desire to find a way out of it. I remembered moving the crate to find my way back to a familiar point. I could see myself scrolling the door controller down to a lucky guess, and my relief at getting out.

After that the memories began to get hazy. I could no longer picture the tapestried halls clearly or the passage to the chamber I’d been in when I met Pralt.

“Very good, we’ve got it all,” Chirt said. “We seem to have new trouble on our hands, and it will require some intensive rethinking.”

“Yes, I’m glad we thought to do this now. It will give us the chance for damage control,” Trill replied.

“Whatever are you two talking about?” I asked.

“We replayed your memory as we received it. You may have noticed that it was particularly sharp and vivid up to the point you left the warehouse,” Trill responded.

“Yes, now that you mention it. So?”

“You do remember moving the crate so that it was in an obvious position, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I answered, not sure where this was going but sure that it wasn’t going to be very good.

“Had you returned to replace the crate, Pralt would probably never suspect you’d been in his warehouse. Now however, he will know it for a certainty. With that knowledge will come a certain closer look at the circumstances surrounding our disappearances. He is sure to know that we’re more than money hungry anarchists. He will not rest until he kills us himself or has irrefutable proof that we’re dead.”

“Sorry for being so dense. I didn’t see it because hiding my presence was never a consideration at the time,” I replied. “So where do we go from here?”

“Under the circumstances, I’d say that Krit can wait a while. We need to return you to the mother-ship first, and then file our report with the board of inquiry. I’m sure that insurers across the galaxy will be glad to see them brought to justice,” Trill replied, then paused. “There may be a substantial reward in it for us all as well. Even a small percentage of the finders fee based on current market value could make you a very wealthy man on your home planet.”

I sat there absorbing that one. I was already trying to get used to the idea of the notoriety awaiting me when we got back to earth. Somehow I expected it to lead to a more prosperous lifestyle anyway, though at a more leisurely pace. Then I began to wonder something else... how much my message to earth would precede me by. At the rate we were going now, I’d be lucky to get back at all.

Chirt brought up a different navigation screen and began to shift our course as Trill entered a record of our conversations and most recent activities into the ship’s log. I was impressed with how well they worked together. Neither had to say much, yet  both seemed to work together harmoniously without duplication of efforts, or need for debate. Each knew what was needed and how his role fit into the overall picture and worked to accomplish it. They made an effective team, and I wondered how they handled it when they disagreed, or if they ever did. In the short time I had know them they had never shown any indication that they thought differently from each other. It was almost as if they shared thoughts, feelings, and emotions. Perhaps it was the telepathic connection they had inferred earlier on Nardis.

The stars on the viewscreen began to pull together shifting color as they crept in toward the center of our mass. They flashed by with a purplish white glare and receded rapidly to a dull red dot. I found it fascinating to think that just a few short days ago I had been living in a world unimaginably far away, and now here I was whizzing around the galaxy in the company of two extraterrestrial beings. A week ago I would have said intelligent extraterrestrial life was only a remote possibility, and now I was in the company of two aliens I had already begun to trust as friends. I wondered if the people at home would have as hard a time adjusting to extraterrestrial beings as Science Fiction writers so frequently pictured. If I could do it, it must not be so hard after all.

“We come out of transition in thirty-seven kilofracs. Since your normal sleep cycle was interrupted by our hasty departure, perhaps you’d like to rest a while.” Chirt cleared the viewscreen as he spoke, and leaned back in his seat, making himself more comfortable.

“That sounds fine to me,” I replied. “I am definitely tired.”

“Your seat reclines if you like,” Trill offered. “You might find it a bit more comfortable..”

“Thanks.” I discovered how to lay the seat back, and stretched out for a nap. As tired as I was, I was still too full of stray thoughts to sleep immediately. I couldn’t help but think of all the changes I’d been thrust into so quickly and their implications not only for myself, but for mankind. I also found myself thinking more seriously about Sharon Gantry, and wishing I had spent more time with her. I wondered if the immediate future held as many shocks and adjustments for her as my last few days. Somewhere between thinking about Sharon and wondering about the future I fell asleep.




John Taggart woke up to the sound of a noisy alarm, and reached across the bed in annoyance trying to find it. As he fumbled around trying to find the button on the clock, he knocked it off the night stand and rolled out of bed in aggravation to try and find the clock. He hated getting up early, and hated even more getting up before he’d had a chance to lounge around for a bit and snooze. He finally located the clock and turned off the alarm.
Putting it back on the night stand, he went to the dresser and began to lay out his clothes for the day, and then headed for the shower. The phone began to ring just when he was lathered up, and he ignored it. It continued to ring insistently, and John kept telling himself that if he got out to answer, it would quit ringing before he picked it up. Finally he sighed, cut off the shower, and dried off quickly, wishing he had an answering machine as he went to reward someone’s persistence.

He picked up the receiver and said, “This better be good, you sure wanted a chance to talk about it”.

“Get over here fast. We’ve had contact verified, and you won’t believe how.”

John started to ask for details as the caller hung up leaving a dial tone in his ear. He hung up and dressed hurriedly, and ran out the door forgetting to lock. He started his truck, an old beat up and still running Ford Ranger, and broke every speed limit as he headed to the new Very Long Baseline Array radio telescope in the middle of a barren New Mexico desert.

He had been part of the SETI program for 3 years now, and had been constantly fighting the bureaucracy for support and project time. He had to admit that if it hadn’t been for the principle involved, he probably would have given up a year ago. He had already given up hope that conventional radio transmission was a viable means of communication from an interstellar perspective. Now it seemed he had been proven wrong.

John pulled up to the main control room in a cloud of dust, which hung there as he got out and ran up the steps. He passed through the door with a sneeze and hurried over to the console to Scott Perkins, who was just coming off of night duty.

“Show me what you’ve got.”

“I think you’d better listen to it, then I’ll tell you where it came from.”

Scott turned on the data recorder playback and the room filled with the familiar static, pops and whistles of random radio noise. Then the static was cut into by the sound of a high pitched ring, and he heard it grow clearer as the array picked it up and focused on the source. Just as the array seemed to lock on, the tone quit and a voice began to speak clearly and in English.

“Hello, my name is Mitch Cole. I work for the Broadmore Associates Advertising Agency as the advertizing director. At this moment I am sitting in the control room of a space ship in orbit around Tau Ceti. The entire trip took me only a day at speeds much faster than light. My personal secretary is Sharon Gantry and can vouch for my identity, and can confirm that I am indeed out of the office at this time. I have met with representatives from at least one extraterrestrial civilization, and a major intergalactic trade organization interested in establishing trade links with the earth.

"This isn't a hoax, as you  may be able to tell by now. To give you further proof, here are some personal details about me and how I got here, that you can investigate to verify my identity.”

As personal details began to fill the air, John reached over and stopped the tape, and said ”It’s probably a hoax. What do we know about the signal?”

“That’s why I called you,” Scott replied. “The signal definitely originated from Tau Ceti. Not only that but it covers all conceivable bandwidths at a power level that still has me shocked. If our instruments aren’t broken, anyone could have heard this transmission. Every AM radio in the world should have picked it up.

“How did you verify location?”

“Triangulation, using Aricebo, the VLBA in Arizona, and our own dish. The Australians have yet to hear it, so we are waiting for some verification from them. According to the transmission, the signal is scheduled to repeat once every 2 hours for the next 24, then stop. There is almost no margin of error. If we don’t go public with some kind of statement on this we are going to look like a pack of fools.”

“I can’t believe this. Our first bonafide ET contact, and it has to come from an American. Boy, are the abduction stories going to fly hot and heavy!”



Sharon Gantry was awakened by the phone to a particularly obnoxious gravelly voiced reporter who asked her about her relationship with Mitch Cole. Still half asleep, she told the man off and rolled over for another half hour of sleep. Then she realized that Mitch was out of town at a conference rubbing elbows with movie stars, and began to wonder what the caller had in mind.

Sleep seemed far away, so she got up and got dressed. As she was rummaging through the kitchen for something to eat for breakfast, the phone rang again. This time the caller was female and identified herself as Brenda Willis, a reporter for the Washington Daily Herald. She politely requested permission to ask a few questions, and Sharon agreed hesitantly.

“Do you work for Mitch Cole of Broadmore Associates?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me when was the last time you heard from him?”

“It was a couple of days ago. He left for a conference.” Sharon opened the refrigerator and began to look at her options.

‘Did he say where this was going to be?”

“No, he didn’t. Is there something wrong?” Sharon found the eggs, and decided on an omelette. As she cradled the phone between chin and shoulder, she paced the egg carton on the counter.

“Not wrong really, but odd. Have you listened to your radio this morning?”

“No. Can you tell me what’s going on.” Still cradling the phone, she reached under the counter for a mixing bowl, found the one she wanted, and got it out.

“This morning around 5:30 or so, a radio signal was broadcast on every conceivable frequency, and it blanketed the world. Everyone who tuned in heard the same message. The person broadcasting the message claimed to be Mitch Cole from your company, and gave your name to verify his identity.”

“It sounds like him, but without some personal details I couldn’t tell you for sure. What in the world could he be up to?” She opened the utility drawer and took out the mixer and set it on the counter, then remembered the cheese.

“That’s what we’d like to know, considering where he called from.”

“Where was that?” She opened the refrigerator for the second time and got out the cheese and milk.

“His transmission said it was ‘Tau Ceti’, which our sources have since verified.”

“Where is Tau Ceti?” Sharon put the milk and cheese next to the eggs and went to the drainer and got out her new non-stick pan.

“Light years away.”

“He said he was going on a long business trip, and was going to get to meet some stars. Isn’t Tau Ceti some kind of exotic resort?” She put the pan on the stove and cradled the phone a little more snugly between neck and chin.

“No, you misunderstood. I meant ‘light years’ away. Tau Ceti is a star system.”

“You’re kidding, right? Yuck!”. She had dropped the first egg on the floor with a splat.

“I wouldn’t be making this call if I was. His message came from there. This has been verified by four major radio telescopes, and by the head of the SETI institute.”

“Oh no! I just remembered. As he left with Mr. Whittleby, he actually told me he was ‘going to visit some stars’. I thought he was talking about the entertainment type. How could it be possible? He hasn’t been gone long enough to get to the moon, not to mention another star.”

“Who is Mr. Whittleby? Ouch!” The phone had clunked to the floor as Sharon bent over to wipe the egg.

“Sorry, I dropped the phone cleaning up a mess. Mr Whittleby is a new client. I think Mitch was negotiating a job for him. They spent the day together the day before yesterday, and I believe the business trip was tied in with him.”

“Do you mind if we talk some more in person?”

“No, that’s fine. Where would you like to meet?”

“Is your place OK?”

“If you can make it before I have to go to work.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Is that OK?”

“Fine. See you then. I hope you like omelettes.”




Jack Perkins sat watching the news in total disbelief. He checked the receipts over for the third time and then lifted the phone, and hastily dialed up the local radio station. When the receptionist answered, he said “ I think I have some information you might be interested in. I just recently rented a boat to someone who signed the rental agreement as Mitch Cole, and his place of employment is Broadmore Associates.”

“One moment sir, and I’ll get someone to talk to you ... may I put you on hold?” she asked politely.

“No problem, I’ll be glad to wait” Jack replied.

Two minutes later, Jack was rewarded by the rich voice of what could only have been one of the newscasters. They spoke at length about the Marina, when Mitch rented the boat, and when he expected it to return. Jack described Mitch and the older gentleman named Gerald Whittleby. He told the reporter that the boat had actually been rented by Mr. Whittleby, but that Mitch Cole was planning to return it, according to what he had heard them discussing shortly before departure.

“When do you expect them to be back?” the reporter asked.

“I was expecting them in another day and a half. If this news of yours is really true, it may be longer now.”

“Do you think you’ll ever get your boat back?”

“I hope so. I’d go looking for it right now, but I haven’t got a clue where they were going when they left.”

“Could it be drifting empty out there somewhere?”

“I doubt it. The ocean is big, but not that big. Someone would have spotted it.”

“What type of boat is it and what does it look like?”

Jack described the boat, gave its name and other pertinent details and then concluded their interview with an agreement for an onsite interview, scheduled for sometime within the next couple of hours. After hanging up the phone, he went back to the television, turned the station over to the cable news station and sat back as they played the recorded message from the stars for the umpteenth time, and counted down the time until the next scheduled broadcast of the live signal. Pundits speculated on the meaning of if it all if the signal were proven to be authentic. Various “experts” were interviewed each offering their opinion of the veracity of the signal, and the significance of the event. After a while Jack got bored and was almost glad when the bell rang at the marina door and the first reporter entered.

By the end of the day, Jack had done over 20 interviews, and told the story at least 20 more times beyond that. All the attention made him feel like a tidbit in a shark pool. He was glad to take the phone off the hook, and lock the door hoping to never see a news camera again as long as he lived. He almost felt sorry for the man who had rented his boat. Almost that is but for a growing desire to see Mr. Cole go through the frenzy himself so that he would get a little of his own back for what Jack had been through today.




Sharon hung the phone up for the fourth time in ten minutes, and realized she would never make it to work if this kept up.  All the media organizations world wide were focused on her company, and on her in particular. She decided to call in and let them know that she wouldn’t be in today. As she picked up the phone she was startled to hear another voice on the line say in a surprised voice “Hello?”. The phone had never rung.

“Hello, who is this?” she asked.

“ Ben Talmadge of the Metro Herald. Do you have time to speak to me about Mitch Cole? It seems like our timing was right. We must have been destined for this moment.”

“About the only destiny I’m sure of is that this day is going to be a waste of time for all of you if you think I can tell you more than you already know.”

“No, we only need you to verify that the voice broadcast from space is indeed his, and that he is your employer... and perhaps you could tell us a little about him.”

He seemed pleasant enough, and Sharon found herself loosening up and talking about her job, and giving a fairly in depth picture of Mitch’s personality. When the call was over, she tried again to call the office and the line was busy. She guessed that the media was responsible, and called a friend who lived across town. When she answered, Sharon asked her to go to her office and notify them that she would not be coming in today. She agreed, and Sharon felt better that at least something was going right.

The doorbell rang, and Sharon looked out the security port to see a neatly dressed woman standing there with a large utility bag slung over her shoulder. A name tag identified her as Brenda Willis. She opened the door, and began what was the first of a day filled with back to back interviews. Somewhere toward the end of the day, she realized that the omelette was still sitting on the counter untouched.