"It's all right with me," I said. "If they'll come out to the barrier…"

"It's not all right with me," said Newcombe, sourly, "but the pressure is terrific. I have to let them see you. I trust you'll be discreet."

"I'll do my best," I told him.

"All right," he said. "There's not much I can do about it. Two hours from now. At the place we met."

"OK," I said. "I suppose it'll be all right if I bring a friend along."

"Yes, of course," said Newcombe. "And for the love of Christ be careful!"

22

Mr Smith caught onto the idea of a Press conference with very little trouble. I explained it to him as we walked toward the barrier where the newsmen waited for us.

"You say all these people are communicators," he said, making sure he had it straight. "We say them something and they say other people. Interpreters, like me."

"Well, something like that."

"But all your people talk the same. The mechanism told me one language only."

"That was because the one language is all that you would need. But the people of the Earth have many languages. Although that is not the reason for newspapermen. You see, all the people can't be here to listen to what we have to say. So these newsmen spread the news…"

"News?"

"The things that we have said. Or that other people have said. Things that happen. No matter where anything may happen, there are newsmen there and they spread the word. They keep the world informed."

Mr Smith almost danced a jig. "How wonderful!" he cried.

"What's so wonderful about it?"

"Why, the ingenuity," said Mr Smith. "The thinking of it up. This way one person talks to all the persons. Everybody knows about him. Everyone hears what he has to talk." We reached the barrier and there was quite a crowd of newsmen jammed on the strip of highway on the other side. Some of them were strung along the barrier on either side of the road. As we walked up, the cameramen were busy.

When we came up to the barrier, a lot of men started yelling at us, but someone quickly shushed them, then one man spoke to us.

"I'm Judson Barnes, of Associated Press," he said. "I suppose you're Carter." I told him that I was. "And this gentleman you have with you?"

"His name is Smith," I said.

"And," said someone else, "he's just got home from a masquerade."

"No," I told them, "he's a humanoid from one of the alternate worlds. He is here to help with negotiations."

"Howdy, sirs," said Mr Smith, with massive friendliness.

Someone howled from the back: "We can't hear back here."

"We have a microphone," said Barnes, "if you don't mind."

"Toss it here," I told him.

He tossed it and I caught it. The cord trailed through the barrier. I could see where the speakers had been set up to one side of the road.

"And now," said Barnes, "perhaps we can begin. State filled us in, of course, so we don't need to go over all that you have told them. But there are some questions. I'm sure there are a lot of questions." A dozen hands went up.

"Just pick out one of them," said Barnes.

I made a motion toward a great, tall, scrawny man.

"Thank you, sir," he said. "Caleb Rivers, Kansas City Star. We understand that you represent the — how do you say it? — people, perhaps, the people of this other world. I wonder if you would outline your position in somewhat more detail. Are you an official representative, or an unofficial spokesman, or a sort of go-between? It's not been made quite clear."

"Very unofficial, I might say. You know about my father?"

"Yes," said Rivers, "we've been told how he cared for the flowers be found. But you'd agree, wouldn't you, Mr Carter, that this is, to say the least, a rather strange sort of qualification for your role?"

"I have no qualifications at all," I told him. "I can tell you quite frankly that the aliens probably picked one of the poorest representatives they could have found. There are two things to consider. First, I was the only human who seemed available — I was the only one who went back to visit them. Secondly, and this is important, they don't think, can't think, in the same manner that we do. What might make good sense to them may seem silly so far as we are concerned. On the other hand, our most brilliant logic might be gibberish to them."

"I see," said Rivers. "But despite your frankness in saying you're not qualified to serve, you still are serving. Would you tell us why?"

"There's nothing else I can do," I said. "The situation has gotten to a point where there had to be an attempt at some sort of intelligent contact between the aliens and ourselves. Otherwise, things might get out of hand."

"How do you mean?"

"Right now," I said, "the world is scared. There has to be some explanation of what is happening. There is nothing worse than a senseless happening, nothing worse than reasonless fear, and the aliens, so long as they know something's being done, may leave this barrier as it is. For the moment, I suspect, they'll do no more than they've already done. I hope it may work out that the situation gets no worse and that in the meantime some progress can be made." Other hands were waving and I pointed to another man.

"Frank Roberts, Washington Post," he said. "I have a question about the negotiations. As I understand it, the aliens want to be admitted to our world and in return are willing to provide us with a great store of knowledge they have accumulated."

"That is right," I said.

"Why do they want admission?"

"It's not entirely clear to me," I told him. "They need to be here so they can proceed to other worlds. It would seem the alternate worlds lie in some sort of progression, and they must be arrived at in a certain order. I confess quite willingly I understand none of this. All that can be done now is to reach proposals that we and the aliens can negotiate."

"You know of no terms beyond the broad proposal you have stated?"

"None at all," I said. "There may be others. I am not aware of them."

"But now you have — perhaps you would call him an advisor. Would it be proper to direct a question at this Mr Smith of yours?"

"A question," said Mr Smith. "I accept your question." He was pleased that someone had noticed him. Not without some qualms, I handed him the mike.

"You talk into it," I said.

"I know," he said. "I watch."

"You talk our language very well," said the Washington Post.

"Just barely. Mechanism teach me."

"Can you add anything about specific conditions?"

"I do not catch," said Smith.

"Are there any conditions that your different people will insist upon before they reach an agreement with us?"

"Just one alone," said Smith.

"And what would that one be?"

"I elucidate," said Smith. "You have a thing called war. Very bad, of course, but not impossible. Soon or late peoples get over playing war." He paused and looked around and all those reporters waited silently.

"Yes," said one of the reporters finally, not the Post, "yes, war is bad, but what…?"

"I tell you now," said Smith. "You have a great amount of fission… I am at loss for word."

"Fissionable material," said a helpful newsman.

"That correct. Fissionable material. You have much of it. Once in another world there was same situation. When we arrive, there was nothing left. No life. No nothing. It was very sad. All life had been wiped out. We set him up again, but sad to think upon. Must not happen here. So we must insist such fissionable material be widely dispersed."

"Now, wait," a newsman shouted. "You are saying that we must disperse fissionable material. I suppose you mean break up all the stockpiles and the bombs and have no more than a very small amount at any one place. Not enough, perhaps, to assemble a bomb of any sort."