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When he spoke, his voice caught, and he had to start again. “They’re beautiful.” He bent over, stretching out his hand. “May I…”
    “Go ahead.”
    He laid his hand lightly on the breast of the dark-haired girl, then ran it down over the stomach, brushing the pubis. He said: “Incredible!”
    Gerald said: “Yes, they are rather pretty.” He had seen the bodies every day. “I think the man has the most interesting face.”
    Seth asked: “Any idea of their age?”
    “None at all.” It was Gerald who answered. “They could be older than the human race.”
    “And what methods do you use to try to bring them back to life?”
    “Well, it’s rather complicated. It’s a matter of trying to build up the lambda field by nondirect integration.”
    “Could you explain that in words of one syllable?”
    Carlsen said: “Listen, I’ll leave you two together for five minutes, if I may.”
    In his own office, he dialled the projection room. It appeared on the telescreen. Every seat was taken, and people were standing in the aisles. On the big screen at the end of the room he recognised the Stranger, its vast bulk scarcely illuminated by the sunlight. The camera was evidently pulling back for a final shot. A moment later, the screen went blank, and people began to stand up.
    He rang the director’s office; he knew Bukovsky would have seen the transmission earlier. Bukovsky’s rasping voice said: “Who is it?”
    “Carlsen, sir.”
    “Olof! I’ve been trying to get hold of you all afternoon.” The tone was reproachful.
    “Sorry, sir. I fell asleep in Hyde Park.”
    “Well, thank God you’re here now. Listen, you know what’s happened?”
    “Not really, sir.”
    “Then listen and I’ll tell you. The Vega reached the Stranger at half past ten this morning. The first thing they discovered was an enormous hole in the roof. A meteor had gone through it like a cannonball. What do you think of that, eh?”
    “You astound me, sir. An incredible coincidence.”
    “That’s what I think. You didn’t report any meteor showers, did you?”
    “There weren’t any, sir. Meteor showers are always associated with comets, and there wasn’t a comet within forty million miles.”
    “Yes, yes.” Bukovsky hated to be told anything. “Then how could it happen?”
    “It must have been a sporadic meteor. But the chances against that are about a million to one.”
    Bukovsky grunted. “Just what I said. But of course, there’ll be pressure to act quickly as soon as the news gets out. You realise that, don’t you? Would you be able to appear on television tonight and explain that it’s a million-to-one chance?”
    “Of course, sir. If you think it necessary.”
    Bukovsky’s door opened, and half a dozen people came in; he recognised them as advisory staff. Bukovsky said: “I think you’d better get up here right away. How soon can you be up?”
    “In five minutes, sir.”
    “Make it two.”
    He hung up. Carlsen looked at his watch and said: “Hell.” That meant leaving the interview with young Adams until later. He pressed the button that would connect him to the laboratory telescreen. The lab was empty. He reconnected with the specimen room. There was no telescreen in there, but there was an observation camera and a speaker system.
    Seth Adams was alone. Carlsen was about to speak; then something made him pause. Adams was crossing the room furtively, like a cat stalking a bird. Carlsen switched back to the lab, looking for Pike, but he was nowhere to be seen. He switched through to the doorman.
    “Have you seen Gerald Pike, the young man from electronics?”
    “Yes, sir. He went out a few minutes ago.”
    So Seth Adams had been alone for at least five minutes. He switched back to the specimen room. As he expected, Seth had opened one of the drawers. It was the one containing the man. He reached into his pocket, and took out a small object — a pen. He unscrewed the end, placed it close to his eye and pressed