I watched it come closer, swing off toward the hundred-foot concrete jetty I had built below the sea-wall, and ease alongside in a murmur of powerful engines. They died, and the boat sat in a sudden silence dwarfing the pier. I studied the bluish-grey hull, the inconspicuous flag aft. Two heavy deck guns were mounted on the foredeck, and there were four torpedoes slung in launching cradles. The hardware didn't make half as much impression on me as the ranks of helmeted men drawn up on deck. I sat and watched. The men shuffled off onto the pier, formed up into two squads. I counted; forty-eight men, and a couple of officers. There was the faint sound of orders being barked, and the column stepped off, moving along the paved road that swung between the transplanted royal palms and hibiscus, right up to the wide drive that curved off to the house. They halted, did a left face, and stood at parade rest. The two officers, wearing class A's, and a tubby civilian with a brief case came up the drive, trying to look as casual as possible under the circumstances. They paused at the foot of the broad flight of Tennessee marble steps leading up to my perch. The leading officer, a brigadier general, no less, looked up at me. "May we come up, sir?" he said. I looked across at the silent ranks waiting at the foot of the drive. "If the boys want a drink of water, Sarge," I said, "tell 'em to come on over." "I am General Smale," the B.G. said. "This is Colonel Sanchez of the Peruvian Army--" he indicated the other military type "--and Mr. Pruffy of the American Embassy at Lima." "Howdy, Mr. Pruffy," I said. "Howdy, Mr. Sanchez. Howdy--" "This ... ah ... call is official in nature, Mr. Legion," the general said. "It's a matter of great importance, involving the security of your country." "OK, General," I said. "Come on up. What's happened? You boys haven't started another war, have you?" They filed up onto the terrace, hesitated, then shook hands, and sat down gingerly in the chairs. Pruffy held his briefcase in his lap. "Put your sandwiches on the table, if you like, Mr. Pruffy," I said. He blinked, gripped the briefcase tighter. I offered my hand-tooled cigars around; Pruffy looked startled, Smale shook his head, and Sanchez took three. "I'm here," the general said, "to ask you a few questions, Mr. Legion. Mr. Pruffy represents the Department of State in the matter, and Colonel Sanchez--" "Don't tell me," I said. "He represents the Peruvian government, which is why I don't ask you what an armed American force is doing wandering around on Peruvian soil." "Here," Pruffy put in. "I hardly think--" "I believe you," I said. "What's it all about, Smale?" "I'll come directly to the point," he said. "For some time, the investigative and security agencies of the US government have been building a file on what for lack of a better name has been called 'The Martians.'" Smale coughed apologetically.