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personnel positioned in the background with cameras and microphone booms set
up ready to record the impending event, completed the scene. The command post
had landline links into the area radar net, and a homing beacon had been set
up for the Ganymean ship. A strangely tense silence predominated, broken only
by the intermittent cries of kittiwakes wheeling and diving above the frozen
marshes beyond the perimeter fence, and the humming of a motor generator
supplying power from one of the parked trailers.
McClusky was about as far from population centers and major air-traffic lanes
as it was possible to get without going outside the U.S., but like every other
point on the Earth's surface it was still subject to satellite scrutiny. In an
attempt to mask the landing, UNSA had given notice that tests of a new type of
reentry vehicle would be conducted in the area during that week, and had
requested airlines and other organizations to reroute ifights accordingly
until further notice. To accustom the region's radar controllers to an
abnormal pattern of activity, UNSA had also been staging irregular ifights
over Alaska for several days and altering their announced flight plans at
short notice. Beyond that there was little they could do. How anything like
the arrival of a starship could be kept secret from terrestrial observers,
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never mind an advanced alien surveillance system, was something nobody was
quite sure of. Whoever was sending the messages through Jupiter had seemed
satisfied with the arrangements, however, and had stated that they would take
care of the rest.
The last message to go out via Jupiter had given the names of the persons who
would make up the reception party, their positions, and a brief summary of
what they did and why each was in-
eluded. The aliens had reciprocated with a reply advising that three of their
members would be prominent in conducting their dealings with Earth. The first
was "Calazar," who was described as personifying the government of Thurien and
its associated worlds-the figure nearest to a
"president" that the planet seemed to possess. Accompanying him would be
Frenua Showm, a female
"ambassador" whose function had to do with affairs between the various sectors
of Thurien society, and Porthik Eesyan, who was involved with policies of
scientific, industrial, and economic importance. Whether or not more than just
these three would be involved, the aliens hadn't said.
"This is all a striking contrast to the Shapieron's arrival on this planet,"
Danchekker muttered, surveying the scene around them. That event Qfl the shore
of Lake Geneva had been witnessed by tens of thousands and shown live over the
news grid.
"It reminds me of Ganymede Main," Hunt replied. "All we need is helmets on and
a few Vegas around. What a way to start a new era!"
On Hunt's other side, Lyn, looking lost in the outsize, fur-trimmed hood
pulled closely around her face, thrust her hands deeper into her jacket
pockets and ground down a block of slush
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with her foot. "They're about due," she said. "I hope they've got good
brakes." Assuming all was on schedule, the ship would have left Thurien, over
twenty light-years away, just about twenty-
four hours earlier.
"I don't think we need entertain any fears of ineptitude on the part of the
Ganymeans,"
Danchekker said confidently.
"If they turn out to be Ganymeans," Hunt remarked, even though by this time he
no longer had any real doubts about the matter.
"Of course they're Ganymeans," Danchekker snorted impatiently.
Behind them Karen Heller and Jerol Packard, the U.S. Secretary of State, stood
motionless and silent. They had persuaded the President to go ahead with the
operation on the strength of the implication that the aliens, Ganymean or not,
were friendly, and if they were wrong they could well have committed their
country to the worst blunder in its history. The President had hoped to be
present in person, but in the end had accepted reluctantly the advice of his
aides that the absence of too many important people at the same time without
explanation would be inviting undesirable attention.
Suddenly the voice of the operations controller inside the mess hall barked
over the loudspeaker mounted on a mast at the rear. "Radar contact!" The
figures around Hunt stiffened visibly. Behind them the team of UNSA
technicians hid their nervousness behind a frenzied outbreak of last-minute
preparations and adjustments. The voice came again: "Approaching due west,
range twenty-two miles, altitude twelve thousand feet, speed six hundred miles
per hour, reducing." Hunt swung his head around instinctively to peer upward
along with all the others, but it was impossible to make out anything through
the overcast.
A minute went by in slow motion. "Five miles," the controller's voice
announced. "It's down to five thousand feet. Visual contact any time now."
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Hunt could feel the blood pumping solidly in his chest. Despite the cold, his
body suddenly felt clammy inside his heavy clothing.
Lyn wriggled her arm through his and pulled herself closer.
And then the wind blowing down from the mountains to the west brought the
first snatch of a low moaning sound. It lasted for a second or two, faded
away, then came back again and this time persisted. It swelled slowly to a
steady drone. A frown began forming on Hunt's face as he listened. He turned
and glanced back, and saw that several of the UNSA people were exchanging
puzzled looks too. There was something wrong. That sound was too familiar to
be from any starship.
Mutterings started breaking out, then ceased abruptly as a dark shape
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