ard. He was
one of the bright young men who had chosen Government Service as a
career, and who, in these days of science-consciousness had risen
rapidly through ability and merit promotions to become the Director of
the Office of Scientific Research while still in his early thirties. A
dedicated man, trained in the bitter school of ideological survival,
he understood what the alien science could mean to this world. Their
knowledge would secure peace in whatever terms the possessors cared to
name, and Matson intended to make sure that his nation was the one
which possessed that knowledge.

He stood beside a tall scholarly looking man named Roger Thornton, who
was his friend and incidentally the Commissioner of Police for the
Twin City metropolitan area. To a casual eye, their positions should
be reversed, for the lean ascetic Thornton looked far more like the
accepted idea of a scientist than burly, thick shouldered, square
faced Matson, whose every movement shouted Cop.

Matson glanced quizzically at the taller man. "Well, Roger, I wonder
how long those birds inside are going to keep us waiting before we get
a look at them?"

"You'd be surprised if they really were birds, wouldn't you?" Thornton
asked with a faint smile. "But seriously, I hope it isn't too much
longer. This mob is giving the boys a bad time." He looked anxiously
at the strained line of police and soldiery. "I guess I should have
ordered out the night shift and reserves instead of just the riot
squad. From the looks of things they'll be needed if this crowd gets
any more unruly."

Matson chuckled. "You're an alarmist," he said mildly. "As far as I
can see they're doing all right. I'm not worried about them--or the
crowd, for that matter. The thing that's bothering me is my feet. I've
been standing on 'em for six hours and they're killing me!"

"Mine too," Thornton sighed. "Tell you what I'll do. When this is all
over I'll split a bucket of hot water and a pint of arnica with you."

"It's a deal," Matson said.

As he spoke a deep musical hum came from inside the ship, and a
section of the rim beside him separated along invisible lines of
juncture, swinging downward to form a broad ramp leading upward to a
square orifice in the rim of the ship. A bright shadowless light that
seemed to come from the metal walls of the opening framed the shape of
the star traveller who stood there, rigidly erect, looking over the
heads of the section of the crowd be