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myself how I do it. All I know is that it can be accomplished only under stress.”
    â€œThat is no explanation,” said Horace. “Surely a man knows what he does.”
    â€œSorry,” said Boone. “I can’t help you further.”
    â€œAnd since we are getting down to fine points,” said Corcoran, somewhat out of sorts, “tell me what all that gibberish meant when I first contacted you.”
    â€œOn that point I can answer you,” said Timothy. “As you must perceive, we are very furtive folk. Perhaps at times too committed to a cloak and dagger ethic. We think our communications system cannot be tapped. But arrayed against us are forces that are powerful and most wondrously intelligent. We can’t be sure how safe we are; we never can be sure. So when we talk among ourselves on the communication system, we employ a very ancient language, the speech of a small and obscure group of humans. By this method, we hope that, even if our communications could be penetrated, there is little possibility that the listener could decipher what we’re saying.”
    â€œThis,” said Boone, “is the most insane setup I have ever come across.”
    â€œYou know not the half of it,” said Timothy. “You do not know the Infinites. If you knew the Infinites …”
    A shriek sounded from the kitchen. Timothy and Emma leaped to their feet. Nora, still shrieking, appeared in the kitchen door. Her cap was awry upon her head and her hands were twisting the apron that was tied about her waist.
    â€œVisitors!” she screamed. “There are visitors. And there is something wrong. The traveler landed in the flower bed and tipped over on its back.”
    Chairs screeched and everyone was charging for the kitchen, heading for the outside door.
    Corcoran looked at Boone. “Could it be that Athens chap?”
    â€œI suppose it could,” said Boone. “We had better go and see.”
    They halted on the kitchen stoop and stared at what was happening in the flower bed. A great gash had been plowed across the bed by a rectangular object, some twelve feet in length and half as wide, its nose buried at an angle in the soil. David, Horace, Enid, and Timothy were shoving and tugging at it. Emma stood to one side, loudly lamenting.
    â€œWe should give them a hand,” said Corcoran.
    Boone and he loped across the lawn.
    â€œWhat do you want to do with it?” Boone asked a panting Horace.
    â€œPull it free,” gasped Horace. “Get it right side up.”
    With the extra manpower, the craft was wrenched free from the soil and turned over.
    Horace and David attacked what seemed to be a panel set into the side of it. Slowly the panel yielded to their clawing fingers, then popped open. David threw himself into the opening, crawled for a ways, then began backing out.
    â€œGive me some help,” he yelled. “I have hold of Gahan.”
    Horace wedged in beside David, fumbling for a hold, then the two of them began backing out, hauling a limp human figure. They hauled it across the flower bed and laid it in the grass.
    Gahan lay upon his back. He was bleeding at the mouth. One arm hung limp; his chest was sopped with blood. Horace knelt beside him, lifting and cradling him. The eyes came open and the bloody mouth moved, but only gurgling came out.
    Enid rushed in and knelt beside him. “It’s all right, Gahan. You are safe. You are at the Acre.”
    â€œWhat happened?” Emma screeched.
    Words and blood came from the mouth. “It’s gone,” he said, then choked on the blood.
    â€œWhat is gone, Gahan? What is gone?”
    He struggled to speak and finally said, “Athens.” That was all.
    Timothy said, “We had better get him to the house. He is badly hurt.”
    â€œHow could it have happened?” Emma shouted.
    â€œHe crashed, damn it,” said David. “He was hurt and lost control.”
    The