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the emission was unlike that of Tycho’s Star or that of any equally powerful radio source Eddington knew of in that part of the sky. Or in any part, for that matter.
    What he would do with the reel of tape tucked fiercely under his arm, he did not know. But he was now convinced that something did need to be done.

Chapter 4
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Agatha
    When the knock came, Eddington nearly leaped out of the foyer chair to answer it. Cracking open the door, he admitted a gust of wind and a woman’s hand, the latter thrusting a square of stiff white paper at him.
    Eddington needed only a glance at the paper to recognize it as one of the invitations he had sent out:
Laurence Eddington requests the honor of your presence at an informal SETI party.
Significant developments in this area will be explored
April 30, 7:00 P.M.
Crown House.
    He flung the door open. “Jeri,” he cried with pleasure. “I’m delighted.”
    “I didn’t want to spoil my reputation as a party girl,” said Dr. Jeri Anofi as she stepped inside. Eddington laughed politely, trying unsuccessfully to see her as the bright, attractive thirty-year-old she had been when he came to Mullard. She was still attractive, but the standards at nearly fifty are not those at thirty, and the vivacious voice clashed somehow with the body which housed it. “Where is everyone?”
    “You’re the first to arrive.”
    “Um. I think I’ll stay near the door—I remember the way you used to look at me.” But she moved past him and into the small parlor. ‘Tell me, what did you tell the engraver SETI meant?” she called over her shoulder.
    “Nothing—because he didn’t inquire, which is how it should be. But I was ready.”
    “With what?”
    “Sexual Empathy and Touching Interaction.” He smiled. “Sounds very American, don’t you think?”
    “Just so you don’t try to turn it into that.” But her smile was friendly.
    A few minutes later they opened the door to a red-faced and breathless Dr. Marc Aikens. “What have you been up to?” Eddington asked, peering into the darkness behind the taller man.
    Aikens gestured aimlessly with his hand. “I don’t know—when I started thinking about what this might be, I simply felt like running. I hope you won’t disappoint me, Eddington.”
    “I don’t think I will.” Eddington restrained an automatic “sir”; Aikens had been chairman of the Old School astronomy department during Eddington’s undergraduate years. The thought of the dignified Aikens running in glee wrinkled Eddington’s face with suppressed amusement.
    Aikens’s jacket had scarcely stopped swinging in the closet when there was another knock. This time it was Terence Winston, one-time associate director of the Goobang Valley observatory in Australia. Winston was a round, dour little man, and he greeted Aikens and Anofi perfunctorily, as though he had passed the last evening with them and been bored.
    Aikens and Anofi settled near each other in the parlor and began to catch up on personal history, while Winston sought out and located the small portable bar. Eddington continued to wait in the foyer, impatiently looking down the long walk for any sign of other guests. The sounds of ice against glass and Anofi’s laughter drifted out to him.
    Twenty minutes passed, and then Anofi joined him there. “Anyone else coming?”
    “Not that I can see,” Eddington said with a sigh.
    “Perhaps we’d better get started, then.” Eddington nodded and followed her into the parlor. “How many invitations did you send out?”
    “Seventy,” he said glumly. “Everyone I could remember from Mullard, all the top people from Jodrell Bank—”
    “All things considered, perhaps this should be viewed as a good response,” Aikens said gently. “What do you have for us?”
    “No long explanations are necessary.” Eddington walked to the stereo cabinet, swung open the doors, and switched on the tape deck. “This was received in the 19-centimetre band from the direction