"He's sucking up to all of 'em," Pete mumbled, his eyes following one of the waiters as he took a loaded tray off the bar. "Sonofabitch can't be decent to the humans who work for him, yet butter wouldn't melt when he talks to a bunch of aliens. Disgusting."

  Bobby Neal turned to look at Forsythe questioningly. "You been drinking, Pete?"

  "Hell no, Bobby!" Forsythe protested, not meeting his friend's eyes. "Just one little glass of wine, that's it."

  "Well, it better stop there," said Neal, not unkindly. "You'd better watch it, especially with Alex here."

  Pete nibbled viciously at a knish impaled on a toothpick. His eyes were inexorably drawn back to the bar. One more glass of wine won't hurt, he thought. I'll wait awhile. That'll prove I can control it. Nobody gets into trouble on two glasses of white wine!

  "Damn," Neal said, "he's waving to us."

  Forsythe began to turn away, but Neal grabbed his arm. "Pete, the man pays us. You've gotta be civil."

  "Hey, Bobby, Pete," Alexander Garr called to them. "C'mon over here!"

  Pete's feet remained rooted to the floor; but Neal tightened his grip on the third baseman's arm and towed him along. "Button that lip, Peter" Neal said. "The boss doesn't look like he's in the mood for any of your cynical remarks tonight."

  "Right," said Pete. "Tonight is unusual. Ordinarily he's just sucking up to politicians from Earth—this is his first chance to do it to politicians from Sirius. Far be it from me to interfere."

  Bobby Neal elbowed his third baseman in the ribs with a sudden jab, causing Pete to let out a surprised "Oof!" and shut up. Having diabetes and a bad heart may have slowed the older man down a bit, but he could still take his players firmly in hand when he felt the need.

  Garr greeted his employees with a broad smile. "Boys, I'd like you to meet Angela, second-in-command of the New York Mother Ship. Angela, this is Bobby Neal, the best manager in major league baseball, and one of my star players, Pete Forsythe."

  Neal extended his hand. "It's a pleasure, ma'am."

  Peter nodded politely but remained silent, and Garr flashed him a warning look. Turning quickly, Forsythe snagged a glass of wine from a tray and sipped it slowly, his blue eyes wide and innocent.

  "We understand baseball and other sports are very important among your people," Angela said.

  "Yes, indeed, ma'am," Neal answered. "Got me outta the oil fields when I was a kid. I didn't get much of an education, but look where I am today. Sports have always been a way for a boy with the right determination and athletic skills to better himself. Builds character and a sense of responsibility in all kids, even if they don't get to be professional athletes."

  "That's very interesting," Angela said, nodding. "Mr. Garr and I were just talking about that, as a matter of fact—building character in youth. We believe it's very important for you to get to know us better, and we would like our visit to your world to be an educational experience—a character-building experience—for your young people."

  "May I make a suggestion, Angela?" asked Garr

  "Of course."

  Alex struck an inspirational pose as he paused for a dramatic
  Angela looked duly impressed and deeply grateful. "Why, Mr. Garr, that's a wonderful idea. I saw your stadium from the air. It's big enough to land our squad vehicles there and we can co-sponsor gatherings between our people and your youngsters—"

  "What we call an 'open house,' Angela." Garr's enthusiasm was expanding by the second. "It will be perfect. We can also set up evening meetings at armories around the city—mix informal sports with discussions and lectures. What do you think, Bobby?"

  "Uh, well ... I think it sounds just dandy. I think the kids'll jump at the chance, 'specially if they get to go up in one of those squad vehicles."

  Angela laughed. "That's part of what I was envisioning."

  Garr nodded at Neal and Forsythe, then, putting an arm around her waist, steered Angela off to meet another group. As they moved away, he continued, "We used to have a thing called 'Hands Across the Water,' a sort of exchange of ideas and culture with countries across our oceans. This will be the same, except that it's 'Hands Across the Stars.' It'll be a fantastic opportunity to—"

  Pete watched them go, then shook his head. "Alexander the Great has made another conquest—this time an interstellar one. My God, that man can get in good with anybody—-anybody who can help him grab headlines and show what a terrific guy he is. I think the sucker's got political aspirations, I really do." He took a final gulp of wine, looking disgusted. "Can't you see tomorrow's Post—'Yankees Owner Interstellar Philanthropist'?"

  "I think you got it backwards, Pete," Bobby Neal said softly, watching the unlikely pair consideringly.

  "Huh?"

  "That Angela spotted Alex a mile away and knew she could use him for somethin' like this."

  "What do you mean, Bobby?"

  "The Visitors need folks like Alex—people who can show 'em the way to make friends with us Earth people, to get in good with us, show us what good ole boys they are."

  "And you call me cynical?" Pete snorted.

  "Oh, I didn't say their intentions were bad. I just said I could see through what they're doin'."

  "Some of us in the cultural-relations field worried that the human religions would have problems accepting our existence, knowing it would prove you aren't the only intelligent beings in the universe, but most faiths seem to have taken it much better than we anticipated," Jennifer commented. "Of course we're delighted it turned out this way."

  "Scripture doesn't prepare us for an occasion like this," said Edward Cardinal Palazzo, the Archbishop of New York. "Unless you want to look at generalizations like the first line of the Bible. 'In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth . . .' Or later, when it says, 'He made the stars also . . .' If you take it in that context, then you Visitors have as much right to be here as we do." He smiled at the auburn-haired Visitor warmly, fingering the gold crucifix on his neck chain. His black vestments hid his small, wiry frame, but couldn't completely disguise his balanced athletic grace. Eddie Palazzo had been a bantamweight boxer while growing up on the Lower East Side. Now, despite his gray hair, he looked far younger than his fifty-three years.

  "How do you perceive the way your people have reacted to our arrival?" she asked.

  "Everything from joy to despair. For some it was a terrible shock, for others it seemed the fulfillment of a dream." He smiled, revealing beautiful teeth. "Nothing that faith in God can't handle."

  "You put a lot of faith in your god, Cardinal Palazzo."

  "That's the name of the game, at least in my business. What about religion on your world, Jennifer? How did it prepare you

  for coping with the fact that you weren't alone in the

  universe?"

  "Science prepared us. The religions that existed on our world have mostly faded into items of historical interest—they have little impact on modern life."

  Cardinal Palazzo expressed concern. "Don't you Visitors believe in anything greater than science? Where do you think the elements science has discovered came from?"

  "Oh, we believe in a greater force—nature, the shaper of the universe. I must admit," Jennifer said thoughtfully, "that I've made sort of an amateur study of your religions, and I was one of the ones who expected more upheaval and fear upon our arrival—the arrival of alien beings outside creation as you've perceived it for all your recorded history."

  "Ah—" The Cardinal smiled. "That was your error, if you don't mind my correcting your view of earthly religion. You and your people are not outside our sweep of creation and belief. Remember, God created the heavens, the earth, and the stars, as I told you. That makes you part of what He created— granted, from a part of the heavens very far away and outside our admittedly very limited experience. But we, as human beings with our short life spans and finite minds, will never have experienced everything God has created. God and His power are, by definition, infinite. So that's why the Church has no trouble accepting and welcoming you, since you come in peace. To us, you're just newly discovered children of God."

  Jennifer smiled wryly. "Kind of like long-lost relatives?"

  Palazzo laughed heartily. "Exactly! That's a very good way of putting it! I might even steal that for a sermon."

  "'Thou shalt not steal,'" quoted Jennifer.

  "Hmm—you have studied, haven't you?" He smiled at her warmly. "Very well then, will you loan it to me?"

  She returned the smile. "I'd be honored."

  "That's Peter Forsythe over there on the other side of the room," George Stewart said to his daughter. "He seems to be drifting over in this direction."

  Lauren made a face. "Then I think it's time for me to powder my nose."

  "Too late, he's seen us. Come on, Lauren, he's one of my best students. I don't know why you don't like him."

  "When I met him at that New Year's Eve party, he was drunk as a skunk and a cynic to beat all. He tried to pick up every girl there, and that was while he was still married."

  "Oh, he's pretty much got the drinking under control now that he and Jean have actually split up. The months just before and after their separation were pretty rough on Pete, but he's a good guy under all that sarcasm—trust me. And as I recall, you were the one who turned a cold shoulder at that party."

  "I'm always chilly to cynical drunks who make a million dollars a year and have no reason on earth to be cynical drunks."

  "Shh—"

  "Hi, Doc!" Pete gave George a lopsided grin, his blue eyes a little too bright. "Good to see you. And nice to see—" He blinked, embarrassed, obviously drawing a blank over Lauren's name.

  "You remember my daughter, Lauren," said Dr. Stewart, smoothly stepping into the breach.

  "Of course," Pete said. "Could I forget one of the most attractive women in New York?"

  "Apparently," murmured Lauren, sotto voce. George shot her a warning glance, but the remark went over Pete's somewhat fuddled head.

  "Well, Pete, have you met the Visitors?" asked Dr. Stewart.

  "Briefly," Forsythe said, finishing his glass of wine and looking around for a refill. "They're so much like us they're a little hard to swallow, don't you think?"

  "What do you mean?" asked Lauren, challenge plain in her voice.

  Pete fumblingly tried to explain. "I dunno. They're just so attentive and complimentary to everyone, and they smile all the time. Reminds me of some Hollywood producers I met while I was doing some commercials out there. Guys would treat you like you were the most important person in the world to them, hanging on your every word, then as soon as you weren't standing there to hear 'em, the suckers would ream you out but good, still grinning all the while. Lie right to your face and then stick it to you, like half the politicians and damn diplomats in this world."

  Lauren stiffened, a dangerous light flickering in her dark

  ryes. George hastened to temporize. "Take it easy, Pete. Remember, Lauren works for the UN."

  "Oh, right." Pete had the grace to blush./'Sorry, I wasn't talking about the UN. Everyone knows they're trying to help, not mess the world over. Too bad they don't have much clout."

  Lauren gave her father an I-told-you-so look, and George made a conciliatory little gesture, accompanied by a shrug.

  The silence lengthened toward awkwardness. Pete smiled winningly at Lauren and tried again. "If you don't mind my saying so, that's a very pretty dress you're wearing, Ms. Stewart," Forsythe said, his eyes traveling over the white silk gown that dramatically bared one of Lauren's slender shoulders. "Not every woman could wear a dress like that. It's sort of . . . what's the word? Daring, or something. You wonder , what holds it up."

  Lauren smiled fractionally, her eyes distant. "Thank you. I think."

  George Stewart coughed suddenly, apparently having swallowed the wrong way. Pete helpfully pounded the older man on the back. In a strangled voice, Stewart announced his intention to get a drink of water, and left. When Pete turned around, Lauren was nowhere to be seen.

  Alison Stein eased back into the overstuffed chair in Dan O'Connor's study next to the party room and gingerly slipped her high heels off with a sigh. Her nylon-clad toes wiggled gratefully as she propped her feet on a hassock.

  "Rough night on the piggies, eh, Ali?" asked the Mayor from behind her. He balanced a cup of coffee on a tray which the City Council President accepted with a look of profound thanks.

  "I'm so glad you don't give these shindigs more than a couple of times a year, Danny," she said, busily taking her heavy silver-and-opal bracelet off and detaching her matching earrings. "I hate getting into long dresses and jewelry."

  "But you look so great when you get dressed up, Ali," O'Connor said, looking down at her with frank admiration, his blue eyes holding a sudden warmth. "I think I ought to make all City Council meetings formal-dress occasions."

  "Over my dead body," Ali said, resting her head against the back of the chair, careless of the heavy mass of her coiffure.

  She avoided his gaze, suddenly conscious of a new current between them. O'Connor had been a widower for several years now, and she'd never seen him show even the slightest interest in women. It was doubly disconcerting now to realize his new awareness was aimed at her.

  The were both quiet for a moment, and when Stein cast a cautious look up at O'Connor, he was staring into the fire. "The party went pretty well," she said. "I'm glad you seem to be in a better mood about our guests of honor. Lost your paranoia about the Visitors trying to usurp your power or something?"

  O'Connor gave her an impatient look. "Cut it out, Ali. I'm not paranoid, and it's not my power I'm worried about. And if anything, I'm more worried." He sat down on the arm of her chair and dropped his voice confidentially. "They were so goddamned charming to everyone here tonight—the more important the person, the more charming they became."

  "Would you have been happier if they'd been grotesque, insulting, and hostile? Would that have made them the perfect dinner guests?"

  "They were too charming, Ali. I've been in the business too long not to recognize a snow job when I see it. They wooed civic leaders, business leaders, communications moguls—even the Cardinal! They didn't miss a trick. I even saw Roger working on Dan Rather and John Chancellor."

  "What about Denise Daltrey? Didn't I see her too?"

  "Yeah, they didn't miss anyone. They practically charmed the bunions off all of New York's television VIP's."

  "Don't tell me you're worried about people like Chancellor, Rather, and Daltrey losing their objectivity over a little dinner chitchat?"

  "No, but they may be the only ones whose heads weren't turned here tonight."

  "Excuse me, Mr. Mayor." Angela's precise reverberating tones came from the doorway behind them. O'Connor jumped, startled, nearly falling off his precarious perch on the chair arm.

  Where the hell did she come from? Alison wondered. Did she overhear Danny's tirade? Oh, shit!

  Both Mayor and City Council President stood and turned as Angela smiled warmly at them. "I'm sorry I startled you.

  Roger asked me to extend good nights for all of us. We have to be getting back, but we enjoyed the evening so much."

  Well," said O'Connor, shaking her hand, "we're delighted you could take time to drop by. We didn't realize any of the quests were still here—good heavens," he looked at his watch, "it's nearly three!"

  "Yes, it's a late hour for us too. But we so enjoyed meeting everyone. And we're grateful for your cooperation on that Visitor Friends project I've suggested. We're very anxious to net started."

  "Alison and I are at your service, Angela. Good night."

  "Good night, Mayor O'Connor, Mrs. Stein."

  They stood in the doorway, looking out across the party room, watching Angela join Roger and Jennifer at the door. The Visitors nodded a final farewell to the few stragglers still left, and then they were gone.

  Alison glared at O'Connor. "Well, Danny, your tongue certainly leads a life of its own, unfettered by your feeble brain. Evil incarnate, that's what she is, obviously!"

  O'Connor shrugged, grinning ruefully. "Open mouth, insert foot."

  The three Visitors strolled toward their squad vehicle. "I think that went rather well," Roger said. "We made contact with many of the people we'll need to accomplish this mission. I'm glad you made such a good start with the president of

  CBS."

  "And we learned who may not be so cooperative," Angela said softly. "I got the distinct impression Peter Forsythe was only here under duress, and Mayor O'Connor, I think, definitely presents a problem. In my opinion we should consider our options regarding the Mayor."

  Jennifer stopped to look at her. "Oh come on, Angela. Aren't you talking in terms that are rather . . . extreme?"

  The blonde officer's voice was harsh beneath the alien reverberation. "Nothing can be allowed to interfere with the requirements of our mission. If certain individuals constitute obstacles, those obstacles will have to be . . . eliminated."

  Chapter 5

  Make New Friends, Lose the Old

  Joey Vitale turned his sparkling white Corvette onto the Brooklyn block of neat well-tended brownstones where his parents lived. He drove slowly, his window down, talking to the neighborhood kids who ran down the sidewalk to wave to him.

  "Hey, Joey! Long time no see!" called a fourteen-year-old girl in a down vest and leg warmers.

  "Hey, Gena, you're gettin' prettier every day!"

  "Hey, Joey!" a dark-haired boy yelled, jogging beside the car, "you gonna play football with us today?"

  "Maybe later, Johnny. First I gotta go watch the Visitors land at the plant with my mom and pop."

 

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