On every side, the huge skyward-facing bowls were beginning to tam in unison, swinging around to the south. Only the one immediately overhead was motionless, like a blind eye no longer able to react to any stimulus. The din was quite astonishing, and continued for several minutes. Then it stopped as abruptly as it had started. CYCLOPs had located a new target for its scrutiny.

“Hello, Duncan,” said Karl in the sudden silence. “Welcome to Earth.”

He had emerged, while Duncan was distracted by the tumult, from a small cubicle on the underside of the parabola, and was now climbing down a somewhat precarious arrangement of hanging ladders. His descent looked particularly hazardous because he was using only one hand; the other was firmly clutching a large notebook, and Duncan did not relax until Karl was safely on the platform, a few meters away. He made no attempt to come closer, but stood looking at Duncan with a completely unfathomable expression, neither friendly nor hostile.

Then there was one of those embarrassing pauses when neither party wishes to speak first, and as it dragged on interminably Duncan became aware for the first time of an omnipresent faint hum from all around him. The cycLops array was alive now, its hundreds of tracking motors working in precise synchronism. There was no perceptible movement of the great antenna’s, but they would now be creeping around at a fraction of a centimeter a second.

The multiple facets of the CYCLOPs eye, having fixed their gaze upon the stars, were now turning at the precise rate needed to counter the rotation of the Earth.

How foolish, in this awesome shrine dedicated to the cosmos itself, for two grown men to behave like children, each trying to outface the other! Duncan had the dual advantage of surprise and a clear conscience; he would have nothing to lose by speaking first. He did

not wish to take the initiative and perhaps antagonize Karl, so it was best to open with some innocuous triviality.

No, not the weather-the amount of Terran conversation devoted to that was quite incrediblel-but something equally neutral.

“That was the hardest work I’ve done since I got here. I can’t believe that people really~ climb mountains on this planet.”

Karl examined this brilliant gambit for possible booby traps. Then he shrugged his shoulders and replied: “Earth’s tallest mountain is two hundred times as high as this. People climb it every year.”

At least the ice was broken, and communication had been established. Duncan permitted himself a sigh of relief; at the same time, now that they were at close quarters, he was shocked by Karl’s appearance. Some of that golden hair had turned to silver, and there was much less of it. In the year since they had last met, Karl seemed to have aged ten. There were crow’s-feet wrinkles of anxiety around his eyes, and his brow was now permanently furrowed. He also seemed to have shrunk considerably, and Earth’s gravity could not be wholly to blame, for Duncan was even more vulnerable to that.

On Titan, he had always had to look up at Karl; now, as they stood face to face, their eyes were level.

But Karl avoided his gaze and moved restlessly back and forth, firmly clutching the notebook he was stiff carrying. Presently he walked to the very edge of the platform and leaned with almost ostentatious recklessness against the protective rail.

“Don’t do that!” protested Duncan. “It makes me nervous.” That, he suspected, was the purpose of the exercise.

“Why should you care?”

The brusque answer saddened Duncan beyond measure. He could only reply: “If you really don’t know, it’s too late for me to explain.”

“Well, I know this isn’t a social visit. I suppose you’ve seen Calindy?”

“Yes. I’ve seen her.” “What are you trying to do?” 247 “I can’t speak for Calindy. She doesnt even know that I’m here.”

“What are the Makenzies trying to do? For the good of Titan, of course.”

Duncan knew better than to argue. He did not even feel angry at the calculated provocation.

“All I’m trying to do is to avoid a scandal-if it’s not too late.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know perfectly well. Who authorized your trip to Earth? Who’s paying your expenses?”

Duncan had expected Karl to show some signs of guilt, but he was mistaken.

“I have friends here. And I don’t recall that the Makenzies worried too much about regulations. How did Malcolm get the first Lunar orbital refueling contract?”

“That was a hundred years ago, when he was trying to get the Titan economy started. There’s no excuse now for financial irregularities. Especially for purely personal ends.”

This was, of course, a shot in the dark, but he appeared to have landed on some target. For the first time, Karl looked angry.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snapped back. “One day

Titan…”

CYCLOPS gently but firmly interrupted him. They had quite forgotten the slow tracking of the great antennas on every side, and were no longer even aware of the faint whirr of the hundreds of drive motors. Until a few seconds ago, the upper platform of 005 had been shielded by the inverted umbrella of the next bowl, but now its shadow was no longer falling upon them. The artificial eclipse was over, and they were blasted by the tropical sun.

Duncan closed his eyes until his dark glasses had adjusted to the glare.

When he opened them again, he was standing in a world divided sharply into night and day. Everything on one side was clearly visible, while in the shadow only a few centimeters away he could see absolutely nothing. The contrast between light and darkness, exaggerated by his

glasses, was so great that Duncan could almost imagine he was on the airless Moon.

It was also uncomfortably hot, especially for Titanians.

“If you don’t mind,” said Duncan, still determined to be polite, “we’ll move around to the shadow side.” It would be just like Karl to refuse, either out of sheer stubbornness or to demonstrate his superiority. He was not even wearing dark glasses, though he was holding the notebook to shield his eyes.

Rather to Duncan’s surprise, Karl followed him meekly enough around the catwalk, into the welcome shade on the northern face of the tower. The utter banality of the interruption seemed to have put him off his stride.

“I was saying,” continued Duncan, when they had settled down again, “that

I’m merely trying to avoid any unpleasantness that will embarrass both

Earth and Titan. There’s nothing personal in this, and I wish that someone else were doing it-believe me.1P

Karl did not answer at once, but bent down and carefully placed his notebook on the most rust-free section of the catwalk he could find. The action reminded Duncan so vividly of old times that he was absurdly moved.

Karl had never been able to express his emotions properly unless his hands were free, and that notebook was obviously a major hindrance.

“Listen carefully, Duncan,” Karl began. “Whatever Calindy told you-“

“She’s told me nothing.”

“She must have helped you find me.”

“Not even that. She doesn’t even know I’m here.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Duncan shrugged his shoulders and remained silent. His strategy seemed to be working. By hinting that he knew much more than he did-which was indeed little enougb-he hoped to undercut Karl’s confidence and gain further admissions from him. But what he would do then, he still had no idea; he could only rely on Colin’s maxim of the masterful

administration of the unforeseen. Karl had now begun to pace back and forth in such an agitated manner that, for the first time, Duncan felt distinctly nervous. He remembered Calindy’s warning; and once again, he reminded himself uneasily that this was not at all a good place for a confrontation with an adversary who might be slightly unbalanced.