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have to call Copernicus first.”
    “Jeez, I could use a friggin’ drink . . .”
    “I could too, Chuck. I could too.” Melendez patched in moonbase Communications and voiced the proper contact words.
    “We copy. Your telemetry is excellent. We estimate distance at one-forty kilometers. Put in for a matching orbit. I want recon within five hundred meters of the surface, relative velocity less than a hundred kilometers an hour. Can you handle that?”
    “We’ll try, Copernicus.”
    “Good luck.”
    “On-board computer has matched orbit coordinates, Copernicus. Stand by . . . matching orbits.” At that moment, the controls were momentarily removed from O’Hara as the autoguidance speeded the vessel to obey the orders.
    “Continue close-approach to five hundred meters. Surface-scan velocity One hundred KPH,” Colonel Kemp’s voice spoke in Melendez’s headphones. The thought of coming that close to the immense ship threatened to unnerve him. He concentrated on his instruments.
    “Affirmative, Copernicus. Match orbit velocity in five seconds. Stand by.”
    O’Hara switched off his mike. “Crazy! Friggin’ crazy!”
    Melendez tried to wave him off, then switched off his mike. “Look, will you keep an eye on the controls, goddammit.”
    “Listen, Melendez, if there’s anybody inside that thing, they might not like the idea of us pokin’ around out here.”
    Calming his voice, Melendez said, “Think for a minute, will you? Anybody that is capable of building something like this ship, or whatever it is, doesn’t have to be afraid of us. They’ve probably been aware of us a lot longer than we’ve been aware of them.”
    “Then how come they haven’t sent out no welcomin’ committee?” O’Hara’s eyes widened. His forehead glistened with sweat. “How come!”
    “I don’t know,” Melendez responded. “Look at the size of the damned thing! I mean, maybe we’re so insignificant to them that they don’t even care. We’re like a little bug crawling along the side of a skyscraper.”
    The helmet-phones crackled. “SP2 double A, what’s going on up there? Everything all right?”
    Back to Priority Channel. “Affirmative, Colonel. We have achieved match orbit, and will be assuming manual-control. Altitude twelve hundred meters and closing.”
    “Roger, SP2 double A. At five hundred meters, begin recon toward the closest end of the cylinder.”
    “Altitude seven hundred meters and closing, stand by . . .” said Melendez, gazing, over at O’Hara, who was nervously controlling the descent of the Snipe. The big man’s face was flushed. He was covered with perspiration. His hands trembled slightly.
    “Copernicus, we have reached altitude. Close approach recon beginning now. Instruments are tracking. We have a positive make on all systems. Do you copy?”
    “Affirmative. Make your first pass along length.”
    “Roger, Copernicus. Please stand by.” Melendez swallowed with difficulty as he watched the metallic-grey expanse of the object sweep past their viewports. An endless stretch of metal, so smooth it could have been polished on a jeweler’s wheel. Occasionally the featureless, alien plain was broken by an unidentifiable contour — a housing, a small dome, a piece of superstructure that could be an antennae system, or perhaps even a weapons system. There was no way of knowing.
    O’Hara was handling the controls as though in a trance. His eyes stared straight ahead, out at the surface of the vessel. It loomed so close it looked as though one could reach out and touch it. He thought that he might be able to do something to assure O’Hara that they were not in any danger.
    “Copernicus, this is Spec-5 Melendez. I was wondering if I might ask you a fairly important question? Important to us, especially.”
    “Colonel Kemp here. Go ahead, Melendez.”
    Melendez smiled slightly. He’d long ago discovered that the best way to handle a problem was to attack it straight on. Ask the right