"I wonder who did that," she said.

Chet snorted. "One of them jerks from Washington, most likely. One of them observers. Science types. They got to have everything numbered for the record."

"It seems a funny thing to do."

"We can't presume to judge how the observers go about their work," said Norton. "There probably is a valid reason for the number."

"I suppose so," said Kathy.

"You have any idea what those lumps may be?" asked Norton. Kathy shook her head. "I can't imagine. It's a shame. It was such a nice, neat thing before, so symmetrical, and now it's got all lumpy."

"You sound like you thought it was pretty."

"Maybe not pretty. But appropriate. The kind of thing you'd expect to come from space. Nice, neat, not spectacular."

"Good Lord," said Norton, "will you have a look at that!" One of the larger lumps that had grown on the visitor was beginning to burst open and from it was emerging a small replica of the visitor. The thing that was emerging from the lump was three or four feet long, but, except for its size and for the absence of bumps on it, it was an exact copy of the big black box. The lump lengthened and widened even as they watched and the thing that was emerging from it fought free and came tumbling to the ground. It landed and rolled and came upright. It was a shiny black, not the deep black of the visitor, but shiny as if it might be wet. For a moment it crouched on the ground, unstirring, then swiftly it wheeled about and set itself in motion, racing toward the back of the visitor, flowing smoothly and silently.

The group of people surged back to clear the way for it. A TV cameraman was shouting savagely, "Down in front. Down in front, goddammit. Get out from in front of the camera. Give me a chance, will you?"

Kathy, backing away with the others, was thinking furiously:

that settles it! it is biological. Not a machine, but a biological being. A live creature, for it is giving birth. It is having babies!

Another of the lumps was splitting open and another small replica of the visitor was fighting free of it. The visitor, itself, was paying no attention to what was taking place. It went on chomping trees.

The first baby to emerge whipped around the rear of the visitor, heading for one of the bales of cellulose. It reared up and attacked the bale, tearing it apart, gulping down the cellulose in much the same manner as its «mother» was gulping down the trees.

Chet was racing toward it, his camera lifted and ready. Sliding to a stop, he braced himself, plastered the camera to his face and began shooting pictures, sliding along after a few exposures to get shots from different angles. Other cameramen also were running frantically, joggling one another for position, forming a ragged circle around the little creature.

"I should have guessed," said a man standing beside Kathy. "When I saw those lumps I should have known. The thing is budding. And that answers the question all of us have been asking ourselves.

"That's right," said Kathy. "It's biological."

He looked at her, apparently for the first time. He raised a hand and touched it to his forehead in salute.

"Quinn," he said. "New York Times."

"Foster," said Kathy. "Minneapolis Tribune."

"You got here early then," he said. "From the first, I would suppose."

"Late on the day it landed."

"Do you realize," he asked, "that we may be covering the story of the century. If not of all time."

"I hadn't thought of it," said Kathy.

Then, ashamed, she said, "I am sorry, Mr. Quinn. I was being flippant. Yes, I had thought of it."

There were more of the babies now, running wildly to find the bales so that they might feed. The newsmen and photographers were scattering, no longer huddled in a group.

One of the babies had fallen and was not running. It lay jiggling and quivering, like an animal that had fallen and was struggling to get up. It lay close against the visitor, but the visitor was paying no attention to its plight.

It's fallen on its side, thought Kathy. The poor thing has fallen on its side and can't get to its feet. Although how she might know this, she did not know, for, truth to tell, there was no way one could know. No one could tell which part was top or bottom.

Quickly she stepped forward and, stooping, laid hold of it and tipped it. Swiftly, it flipped over and quickly scurried off, heading for the bales.

Straightening, Kathy reached up a hand and patted the barn-like side of the visitor.

"Mother," she said, softly to herself, not really speaking to the visitor, for how was the visitor to hear? "Mother, I helped your baby to its feet."

Underneath her hand, the hide of the visitor twitched and then folded over to grasp her hand, still against its side, folding over gently, covering her outspread hand, to hold it for a moment. Then the hide unfolded and became hard and smooth again.

Kathy stood stricken, shaken, not believing it had happened. It noticed me, she thought in a wild panic of churning emotion. It knew I was here. It knew what I had done. It tried to shake my hand. It was thanking me.

18. WASHINGTON, D.C

"What do you have on this pupping business?" the President asked Porter.

"Pupping, sir?"

"Yes, the visitor out in Minnesota, having pups."

"All that I have is on the wires," said Porter. "Fourteen of

them so far, and a few more to go.

"A fair litter," said the President.

"You probably know more than I do about it," the press secretary said. "Dr. Allen has his men out there. He probably has reported to you.

"Yes, of course he has. But Allen is an old woman and those observers of his are thin-lipped science people. They won't tell you anything until it's all nailed down. They won't tell you what they're thinking because if they were wrong, their beloved fellow scientists would laugh them out of court. What they do tell you is so filled with scientific lingo and so many ifs and maybes and so much double-talk, you can't tell what they mean.

"You can't mean that Dr. Allen is incompetent," said Hammond. "He is a top-notch man. He has the respect.

The President waved his hand. "Oh, he's competent, of course, and his fellow scientists are filled to overflowing with their respect of him, but he's not the kind of man I cotton to. I like straight talking men who tell you what they mean. With Allen, there's a lot of times when I wonder what he is talking about. The two of us don't talk the same kind of language."

"Barring all this," said Hammond, "cutting through all the

lingo and the double-talk, what does he think of it?"

"He's puzzled," said the President. "A very puzzled scientist. I think he was convinced, when this first started, that the visitor was a machine and now he has to admit, at least to the probability, that it probably isn't. This pupping business has done violence to his little scientific mind. Really, I'm not too concerned with what he is thinking of it because he's going to change his mind a couple of more times before the week is at an end. What I'm more interested in is how the country's taking it."

"It's too soon to know," said Porter. "There are as yet no solid indications, no way to gauge reactions. There've been no outbreaks of any kind. Whatever may be happening is happening underneath the people's skins. They are still busy sorting it all out, holding in their feelings until they get it sorted out. But I have a hunch.

He broke off his words and looked at Hammond and the Secretary of State.

"Well, go ahead," said the President. "What is this hunch of yours?"

"It's probably silly. Or will sound silly."

"Well, go ahead and be silly. I hear a hell of a lot of silly things. I've listened to and profited from many of them. Anyhow, it's among us boys. John and Marcus won't mind. They've said their share of silly things."