That night there was a grand welcoming banquet in Ganyville, vegetarian of course, in which words, and wine flowed freely. After the meal and still more speeches were over and the two races had begun mixing and socializing, Hunt found himself, glass in hand, standing to one side of the room with three Ganymeans--Valio and Kralom, two of the crew officers from the Shapieron , and Strelsya, a female administrator. Valio was explaining his confusion over some of the things he had learned that day.

"Ethmanuel Crow, I think he said his name was," Valio told them. "He was with the delegation from the place you live in, Vic--USA. Said he was from Washington. . . State Department or something. The thing that puzzled me was when he said he was a Red Indian."

Hunt propped himself casually against the table behind him and sipped his scotch.

"Why, what's the problem?" he asked.

"Well, we met the Indian government spokesman later on, and he said India isn't anywhere near the USA," Valio explained. "So how could Crow be an Indian?"

"That's a different Indian," Hunt replied, fearing as he spoke that the conversation was about to get itself into a tangle. Sure enough, Kralom had something to add.

"I met someone who was a West Indian, but he said he came from the east."

"There is an East Indies. . ." Strelsya began.

"I know, but that's way over in the west," Kralom said.

Hunt groaned inwardly and reached in his pocket for his cigarette pack while he collected his thoughts. Before he could inject a word of explanation, Valio resumed.

"I thought that maybe when he said he was a Red Indian he might be really from China because they're supposed to be red and they're not far from India, but it turns out they're yellow."

"Perhaps he was Russian," Kralom suggested. "Somebody told me they're red too."

"No, they're pink," Strelsya declared firmly. She motioned her head in the direction of a short, heavily built man in a black suit with his back toward them, talking to another mixed group. "There--he's one if I remember rightly. See for yourself."

"I've met him," Kralom said. "He's a White Russian. He said so, but he doesn't look white."

The three aliens looked imploringly toward Hunt for some words of wisdom to make sense of it all.

"Not to worry--it's all hangovers from a long time ago. The whole world's getting so mixed up together now that I really don't suppose it'll matter much longer," he said lamely.

By the early hours of the morning, while a thousand lights still twinkled on the shadows of the surrounding hills, all was quiet, except for occasional scuffling noises and every now and again an ominous crash of bulk against timber, as gigantic frames tottered unsteadily but contentedly to bed through the narrow alleys between the chalets.

The next morning, the august visitors from every corner of the globe began departing to give Ganyville a week of undisturbed rest and relaxation. A light schedule of discussions with visiting groups of Earthmen, mainly scientists, had been arranged for the week and some news features were laid on for the benefit of the public; for the most part, however, the Giants were left free to enjoy the feeling of having a world under their feet again.

Many simply spent their time stretched out on the grass, basking in a splendor that was, to them, tropical. Others walked for hours along the perimeter, stopping all the time to savor the air as if making sure they were not dreaming it all and standing and staring in unconcealed delight at the lake, the hills, and the snowcapped peaks of the distant Alps. Others became addicted to the Earthnet terminals in the chalets, and displayed an insatiable appetite for information on every facet of Earth, its people, its history, its geography, and everything else there was to know about it. To facilitate this, ZORAC had been connected into the Earthnet system, enabling an enormous interchange of the accumulated knowledge of two civilizations.

But best of all to watch was the reaction of the Ganymean children. Born aboard the Shapieron during its epic voyage from Iscaris, they had never seen a blue sky, a landscape or a mountain, never breathed natural air, and had never before conceived the notion of leaving their ship without requiring any kind of protection. To them, the lifeless void between the stars was the only environment that existed.

At first, many of them shrank from coming out of the ship at all, fearful of consequences that had been instilled into them all their lives and which they accepted unquestioningly as fundamental truths. When at last a few of the more trusting and adventurous ones crept warily to the doors at the tops of the access ramps and peered outside, they froze in utter disbelief and confusion. From the things both their elders and ZORAC had told them, they had a vague idea of planets and worlds--places bigger than the Shapieron that you could live on instead of in , they gathered, though what this could possibly mean had never been clear. And then they had come to Ganymede; obviously that was a planet, they'd thought.

But now this! Hundreds of people outside the ship clad only in their shirtsleeves; how could that be possible? How could they breathe and why did they not explode with decompression? Space was supposed to be everywhere, but it wasn't here; what had happened to it? How did the universe suddenly divide itself into two parts, half "up" and half "down"--words that could only mean anything inside a ship? Why was down all green; who could have made anything so large and why had they made it in strange shapes that stretched away as far as one could see? Why was up all blue and why weren't there any stars? Where did all the light come from?

Eventually, with much coaxing, they ventured down the ramps and onto the ground. Nothing awful happened to them. Soon they became reassured and began to explore their new and wondrous surroundings. The concrete at the bottom of the ramps, the grass beyond, the wooden walls of the chalets--all were new and each held its own particular fascination. But the most astounding sight of all was that stretching away, seemingly forever, on the other side of the ship--more water than they had ever believed existed in the whole of the universe.

Before long they were romping and reveling in an ecstasy of freedom greater than anything they had ever known. The crowning glory came when the Swiss police launches started running joy rides for them, up along the shore, out into the middle of Lake Geneva, and back again. It soon became obvious that only the grownups and their hang-ups stood in the way of the question of settling on Earth; the kids had made their minds up in no uncertain manner.

Two days after the landing, Hunt was enjoying a coffee break in the residents' cafeteria at Ganyville when a low buzz from his Ganymean wrist unit signaled an incoming call. He touched a button to activate the unit and ZORAC's voice promptly informed him: "The coordination office in the Bureau Block is trying to contact you. Are you accepting?"

"Okay."

"Dr. Hunt?" The voice sounded young and, somehow, pretty.

"That's me," he acknowledged.

"Coordination office here. Sorry to trouble you but could you come over? We could use your help on something."

"Not until you promise to marry me." He was in that kind of mood. Maybe it was coming home after being away for so long.

"What? . . ." The voice rose in surprise and confusion. "I don't. . . that is, I'm serious . . ."

"What makes you think I'm not?"

"You're crazy. Now how about coming over? . . . on business." At least, he thought, she recovered her balance nice and quickly.

"Who are you?" he asked lightly.