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I the Moon. He shook his head at Clovis. “I’m glad ; you’re so desperate to find this man, Clovis—I’m glad because it shows you now how the system’s breaking down. Now you’re suffering...”
    Clovis said reasonably: “Yes, it’s a good demonstration, but it’s really very important that I locate him. Please keep trying.”
    “We never stop trying. There was a man five or six years ago—Jonis was his name—came into an inheritance—a V-type house, almost brand new—took up thirteen months to locate him. Know where he was? He was four miles underground in a refrigerated suit with enough supplies for two years, charting an old volcano course. We found him—^didn’t stop trying.” Clovis thought of something else, his conversation of the previous night. “What about Alodios—the novelist—where’s he?”
    “I know the man you mean—the artist, Alodios. And I know who’d know—unless you’re trying to pull a fast one on me, Clovis, trying to get me to trace impossible ...” He had pressed a button and an old man appeared on another screen. “Klernit—you’re a great fan of Alodios aren’t you? What happened to him? Clovis Marca wants to know.”
    The old man shook his head. “I know where he is— it came in on the register only a few days ago—but if you want to know why or how ...”
    “Just where, Klernit.”
    “Well, he went out to the Bleak Worlds—Antares— just suddenly went there. Yes,” Klernit mused, “yes, he produced some magnificent pieces, you know—remarkable pieces—”
    “Thanks,” said Yoluf switching Klernit hastily off. “He tends to ramble. That help you, Clovis?”
    “Another mystery? Why should a man like that travel out to the Bleak Worlds? He was closest to Earth than any other man of his time—he was the spirit of this planet, tapped its heart...”
    “Born here was he?”
    “Never left here as far as I know. It’s a puzzle... ”
    “I don’t try to understand artists, Clovis. It’s hard enough trying to run this crumbling organisation.” A big yellow light began to flash on the largest and central screen. Yoluf looked up in surprise. “Emergency!” he squeaked in delight. “About time we had something.
    Good thing you’re here.” He flipped a switch, adding gloomily, “Not that we’ve got the set-up to deal with anything. Listen in on this, Clovis—it may be of interest.”
    The screen was slashed by bright colours which slowly formed a picture. Yoluf frowned. It seemed to be a picture of empty space. “Looks like it’s being taken from Neptune by the position of those stars,” he said, impatiently, waiting for the sound.
    The sound came in, slightly distorted.
    “A large unidentified spacecraft is on course for Earth. The design is unfamiliar. It is not an Earth ship. Repeat : It is not an Earth ship ...”
    “Not an Earth ship—then what is it... ?” Yoluf turned to look at Clovis.
    Clovis said: “An extraterrestrial ship—a foreign ship. Where’s it from—our galaxy, or the invading one?” He was so startled by the news that he sat for a moment without thinking at all. Then he realised he felt angry, resenting the intrusion of the ship. It was visible on the screen now—a tiny luminous blue speck in the black, glistening silence of space.
    “It’s travelling very rapidly,” said Yoluf loudly as the voice from the screen continued to give its data. Neither of the men were listening to it.
    For a ship travelling in interplanetary space, its rate was exceptionally fast. It was growing larger on the screen. Clovis was beginning to make out details. It was hard to judge the size, but it gave him the impression of being very big. Its shining blue bulk flickered through space. Now that it was closer, its hull had a lattice effect —a pale blue and slightly darker blue. The pale blue areas could be thousands of portholes, or outsides camera lenses. It was almost a perfect square with rounded corners and—unlike the heavily