"This can be done?"

"Ask your grandson. It won't be soon." Bruck scowled.

"Dr. Bruck, why are you unhappy?" asked Mr. van D.

Bruck scowled harder. "Are you goin' to make this Top Secret'? I don't like classifying mathematics. It's shameful."

I batted my ears. I had explained to the Mother Thing about "classified" and I think I shocked her. I said that the FFN had to have secrets for survival, just like Three Galaxies. She couldn't see it. Finally she had said that it wouldn't make any difference in the long run. But I had worried because while I don't like science being "secret," I don't want to be reckless, either.

Mr. van D. answered, "I don't like secrecy. But I have to put up with it."

"I knew you would say that!"

"Please. Is this a U.S. government project?"

"Eh? Of course not."

"Nor a Federation one. Very well, you've shown me some equations. I can't tell you not to publish them. They're yours."

Bruck shook his head. "Not ours." He pointed at me. "His."

"I see." The Secretary General looked at me. "I am a lawyer, young man. If you wish to publish, I see no way to stop you."

"Me? It's not mine-I was just-well, a messenger."

"You seem to have the only claim. Do you wish this published? Perhaps with all your names?" I got the impression that he wanted it published.

"Well, sure. But the third name shouldn't be mine; it should be-" I hesitated. You can't put a birdsong down as author. "-uh, make it ‘Dr. M. Thing.'"

"Who is he?"

"She's a Vegan. But we could pretend it's a Chinese name."

The Secretary General stayed on, asking questions, listening to tapes. Then he made a phone call-to the Moon. I knew it could be done, I never expected to see it. "Van Duivendijk here... yes, the Secretary General. Get the Commanding General... Jim?... This connection is terrible... Jim, you sometimes order practice maneuvers... My call is unofficial but you might check a valley-" He turned to me; I answered quickly. "-a valley just past the mountains east of Tombaugh Station. I haven't consulted the Security Council; this is between friends. But if you go into that valley I very strongly suggest that it be done in force, with all weapons. It may have snakes in it. The snakes will be camouflaged. Call it a hunch. Yes, the kids are fine and so is Beatrix. I'll phone Mary and tell her I talked with you."

The Secretary General wanted my address. I couldn't say when I would be home because I didn't know how I would get there-I meant to hitchhike but didn't say so. Mr. van D.'s eyebrows went up. "I think we owe you a ride home. Eh, Professor?"

"That would not be overdoing it."

"Russell, I heard on your tape that you plan to study engineering-with a view to space."

"Yes, sir. I mean, ‘Yes, Mr. Secretary.' "

"Have you considered studying law? Many young engineers want to space-not many lawyers. But the Law goes everywhere. A man skilled in space law and meta-law would be in a strong position."

"Why not both?" suggested Peewee's Daddy. "I deplore this modern overspecialization."

"That's an idea," agreed Mr. van Duivendijk. "He could then write his own terms."

I was about to say I should stick to electronics-when suddenly I knew what I wanted to do. "Uh, I don't think I could handle both."

"Nonsense!" Professor Reisfeld said severely.

"Yes, sir. But I want to make space suits that work better. I've got some ideas."

"Mmm, that's mechanical engineering. And many other things, I imagine. But you'll need an M.E. degree." Professor Reisfeld frowned. "As I recall your tape, you passed College Boards but hadn't been accepted by a good school." He drummed his desk. "Isn't that silly, Mr. Secretary? The lad goes to the Magellanic Clouds but can't go to the school he wants."

"Well, Professor? You pull while I push?"

"Yes. But wait." Professor Reisfeld picked up his phone. "Susie, get me the President of M.I.T. I know it's a holiday; I don't care if he's in Bombay or in bed; get him. Good girl." He put down the phone. "She's been with the Institute five years and on the University switchboard before that. She'll get him."

I felt embarrassed and excited. M.I.T.-anybody would jump at the chance. But tuition alone would stun you. I tried to explain that I didn't have the money. "I'll work the rest of this school and next summer-I'll save it."

The phone rang. "Reisfeld here. Hi, Oppie. At the class reunion you made me promise to tell you if Bruck's tic started bothering him. Hold onto your chair; I timed it at twenty-one to the minute. That's a record... . Slow down; you won't send anybody, unless I get my pound of flesh. If you start your lecture on academic freedom and ‘the right to know,' I'll hang up and call Berkeley. I can do business there-and I know I can here, over on the campus... . Not much, just a four-year scholarship, tuition and fees... . Don't scream at me; use your discretionary fund-or make it a wash deal in bookkeeping. You're over twenty-one; you can do arithmetic... . Nope, no hints. Buy a pig in a poke or your radiation lab won't be in on it. Did I say ‘radiation lab'? I meant the entire physical science department. You can flee to South America, don't let me sway you... . What? I'm an embezzler, too. Hold it." Professor Reisfeld said to me, "You applied for M.I.T.?"

"Yes, sir, but-"

"He's in your application files, ‘Clifford C. Russell.' Send the letter to his home and have the head of your team fetch my copy... . Oh, a broad team, headed by a mathematical physicist-Farley, probably; he's got imagination. This is the biggest thing since the apple konked Sir Isaac... . Sure, I'm a blackmailer, and you are a chair warmer and a luncheon speaker. When are you returning to the academic life?... Best to Beulah. ‘Bye."

He hung up. "That's settled. Kip, the one thing that confuses me is why those worm-faced monsters wanted me."

I didn't know how to say it. He had told me only the day before that he had been correlating odd data-unidentified sightings, unexpected opposition to space travel, many things that did not fit. Such a man is likely to get answers-and be listened to. If he had a weakness, it was modesty-which he hadn't passed on to Peewee. If I told him that invaders from outer space had grown nervous over his intellectual curiosity, he would have pooh-poohed it. So I said, "They never told us, sir. But they thought you were important enough to grab."

Mr. van Duivendijk stood up. "Curt, I won't waste time listening to nonsense. Russell, I'm glad your schooling is arranged. If you need me, call me."

When he was gone, I tried to thank Professor Reisfeld. "I meant to pay my way, sir. I would have earned the money before school opens again."

"In less than three weeks? Come now. Kip."

"I mean the rest of this year and-"

"Waste a year? No."

"But I already-" I looked past his head at green leaves in their garden. "Professor... what date is it?"

"Why, Labor Day, of course."

("-forthwith to the space-time whence they came.")

Professor Reisfeld flipped water in my face. "Feeling better?"

"I-I guess so. We were gone for weeks."

"Kip, you've been through too much to let this shake you. You can talk it over with the stratosphere twins-" He gestured at Giomi and Bruck. "-but you won't understand it. At least I didn't. Why not assume that a hundred and sixty-seven thousand light-years leaves room for Tennessee windage amounting to only a hair's breadth of a fraction of one per cent? Especially when the method doesn't properly use space-time at all?"

When I left, Mrs. Reisfeld kissed me and Peewee blubbered and had Madame Pompadour say good-bye to Oscar, who was in the back seat because the Professor was driving me to the airport.

On the way he remarked, "Peewee is fond of you."

"Uh, I hope so."