“Honest, I didn’t even hear it.”

“Obviously. But for a while we’ve got to pretend to a modicum of dignity around here—it might be the Secretary General. So get out of range.”

But it was Mr. Mackenzie. “Jubal, what in the devil is going on?”

“Trouble?”

“A short while ago I got a wild phone call from a young man claiming to speak for you who urged me to drop everything and get cracking, because you’ve finally got something for me. Since I had already ordered a mobile unit to your place—”

“Never got here.”

“I know. They called in, after wandering around somewhere north of you. Our despatcher straightened them out and they should be there any moment now. I tried twice to call you and your circuit was busy. What have I missed?”

“Nothing yet.” Jubal considered it. Damnation, he should have had someone monitor the babble box. Had Douglas actually made that news release? Was Douglas committed? Or would a new passel of cops show up? While the kids played post office! Jubal, you’re getting senile. “I’m not sure that there’s going to be, just yet. Has there been anything special in the way of a news flash this past hour?”

“Why, no—oh, one item: the Palace announced that the Man from Mars had returned north and was vacationing in the—Jubal! Are you mixed up in that?”

“Just a moment. Mike, come to the phone. Anne, grab your robe.”

“Got it, Boss.”

“Mr. Mackenzie—meet the Man from Mars.”

Mackenzie’s jaw dropped, then his professional reflexes came to his aid. “Hold it. Just hold it right there and let me get a camera on this! We’ll pick it up in flat, right off the phone—and we’ll repeat in stereo just as quick as those jokers of mine get there. Jubal . . . I’m safe on this? You wouldn’t—You wouldn’t—”

“Would I swindle you with a Fair Witness at my elbow? Yes, I would, if necessary. But I’m not forcing this interview on you. Matter of fact, we should wait and tie in Argus and Trans-Planet.”

“Jubal! You can’t do this to me.”

“And I won’t. The agreement with all of you was to monitor what the cameras saw . . . when I signalled. And use it if it was newsworthy. But I didn’t promise not to give out interviews in addition to that—and New World can have this interview, oh, say thirty minutes ahead of Argus and Trans-P . . . if you want it.” Jubal added, “Not only did you loan us all the equipment for the tie-in, but you’ve been very helpful personally, Tom. I can’t express how helpful you’ve been.”

“You mean, uh, that telephone number?”

“Correct!”

“And it got results?”

“It did. But no questions about that, Tom. Not on the air. Ask me privately—next year.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t think of it. You keep your lip buttoned and I’ll keep mine. Now don’t go away—”

“One more thing. That spool of messages you’re holding for me against the same signal. Make damn sure they don’t go out. Send them back to me.”

“Eh? All right, all right—I’ve been keeping them in my desk, you were so fussy about it. Jubal, I’ve got a camera on this phone screen right now. Can we start?”

“Shoot.”

“And I’m going to do this one myself!” Mackenzie turned his face away and apparently looked at the camera. “Flash news! This is your NWNW reporter on the spot while its hot! The Man from Mars has just phoned you right here in your local station and wants to talk to you! Cut. Monitor, insert flash-news plug and acknowledgment to sponsor. Jubal, anything special I should ask him?”

“Don’t ask him questions about South America—he’s not a tourist. Swimming is your safest subject. You can ask me about his future plans.”

“Okay. End of cut. Friends, you are now face to face and voice to voice with Valentine Michael Smith, the Man from Mars! As NWNW, always first with the burst, told you earlier, Mr. Smith has just returned from his solitary retreat high in the Andes—and we welcome him back! Wave to your friends, Mr. Smith—”

(“Wave at the telephone, son. Smile and wave at it.”)

“Thank you, Valentine Michael Smith. We’re all happy to see you looking so healthy and tan. I understand that you have been gathering strength by learning to swim?”

“Boss! Visitors. Or something.”

“Cut before interruption—after the word ‘swim.’ What the hell, Jubal?”

“I’ll have to see. Jill, ride herd on Mike again—it might be General Quarters.”