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convince, say, a teenage boy or girl to study for a career in space?"
    "They have a choice," Hicks said, still cold to the microphone and the interviewer, his mind elsewhere. Call it a reporter's instinct, but he had been feeling uneasy for days. "They can elect to stay on Earth and live an existence, a life, very little different from the lives their parents led, or they can try their wings on the high frontier. I don't need to convince the young folks out there who are really going into space in the next ten or twenty years. They know already."
    "Preaching to the choir?" the news manager asked.
    "Rather," Hicks said. Space was no longer controversial. Hardly the sort of topic likely to get much air time on a rock-and-surf radio station.
    "Did fears of 'preaching to the choir' lead you to write your novel, perhaps in hopes of finding a wider audience?"
    "I beg pardon?"
    "An audience beyond science books. Dabbling in science fiction."
    "Not dabbling. I've read science fiction since I was a lad in Somerset. Arthur Clarke was born in Somerset, you know. But to answer your question: no. My novel is not written for the masses, more's the pity. Anyone who enjoys a solid novel should enjoy mine, but I must warn them"—oh, Lord, Hicks thought—not just cold; bloody well frozen—"it's technical. No ignoramuses admitted. Dust jacket locks tight on their approach."
    The manager laughed politely. "I enjoyed it," he said, 'and I suppose that means I'm not an ignoramus."
    "Certainly not," Hicks allowed.
    "Of course you've heard of the Australian reports."
    "No. Sorry."
    "They've been coming in all day."
    "Yes, well, it's only ten o'clock in the morning and I slept late." His neck hair was standing on end. He regarded the news manager steadily, eyes slightly protruding.
    "I was hoping we could get a comment from you, an expert on extraterrestrial phenomena."
    "Tell me, and I'll comment."
    "The details are sketchy now, but apparently the Australian government is asking for advice on dealing with the presence of an alien spacecraft on their soil."
    "Pull the other one," Hicks said reflexively.
    "That's what's been reported."
    "Sounds loony."
    The manager's face reddened. "I only bring the news, I, don't make it."
    "I have been waiting all my life for a chance to report on a true extraterrestrial encounter. Call me a romantic, but I've always held out hope as to the possibility of such an encounter. I have always been disappointed."
    "You think the report's a hoax?"
    "I don't know anything about it."
    "But if there were alien visitors, you'd be among the first to go talk with them?"
    "I'd invite them home to meet my mum. My mother."
    "You'd welcome them in your house?"
    "Certainly," Hicks said, feeling himself warming. Now he could show his true wit and style.
    "Thank you, Mr. Hicks." The manager addressed his microphone now, cutting Hicks out. "Trevor Hicks is a scientist and a science reporter whose most recent book is a novel, Star home , dealing with the always-fascinating subjects of space colonization and first contact with extraterrestrial beings. Coming next on '90's News: another attempt to capture drift sand in Pacific Beach, and the birth of a gray whale at Sea World."
    "May I see these Australian reports?" Hicks asked when the news manager had finished. He thumbed through the thin sheaf of wire service printouts. They were sketchy at best. A new Ayers Rock in the middle of the Great Victoria Desert. Geologists investigating. Anomalous formation.
    "Remarkable," he said, returning the sheaf to the news manager. "Thank you."
    "Anytime," the manager said, opening the door.
    A bright yellow cab awaited him in the station parking lot. Hicks climbed into the back seat, neck hair still prickling. "Can you find a newsstand?" he asked the driver.
    "Newsstand? Not in Clairemont Mesa."
    "I need a paper. A good paper. Morning edition."
    "I know a place on Adams Avenue that sells the New York Times , but it's going to be yesterday's."
    Hicks