He unstrapped himself from the thin, bicyclelike seat, and, expressionlessly, folded the rotors of his tiny craft back over themselves and the engine, collapsed the whole thing into a manageable packet of some seventy-five pounds, the seat now becoming a handle, and then turned and faced Crawford. Donaldson screwed his wizened face into an expression of respect and made a motion of obeisance. Then he waited. Isobel said, "El Hassan bids you speak." That was the tip-off, then. Crawford had already revealed himself to these people as El Hassan. Very well. Donaldson spoke in Arabic, not knowing the Tamaheq tongue. "Aselamu, Aleikum, El Hassan. I come to obey your wishes." A sigh had gone through the Tuareg. "Aiiiii." _Wallahi, even the djinn obeyed El Hassan!_ With dignity, Homer Crawford said, "Keif halak, all in my house is yours." Rex Donaldson inclined his small bent body again, in respect. Crawford said in English, "Let's not carry this _too_ far. Come on into the tent." Ignoring the Tuareg, who still gaped but held their distance, the four English-speaking Negroes headed for the larger of the two tents that had been set up for El Hassan. As they passed Guémama who stood slightly aside from the other Tuareg with his uncle Melchizedek, the Amenokal, Crawford nodded and said, speaking to them both. "A messenger from my people to the south. Continue with your newly arrived warriors, O Guémama." Cliff Jackson had picked up the folded heliohopper and was now carrying it easily. Guémama looked at the device and blinked. Crawford refrained from laughing at his commander of irregulars. "It is not a _kambu_ device. My people deal not in magic. It is but one of the many of the things the new ways bring. One day, Guémama," Homer's face remained expressionless, "perhaps you will fly thus." The teguelmoust hid the other's blanch. In the tent, Homer turned to the Bahaman, motioned to what seating arrangements were available. Isobel said, "I'll get some coffee." Cliff blurted, "Holy Mackerel, if Donaldson, here, can drop in on us out of a clear sky, what keeps anybody else from doing it? Somebody with a couple of neopalm bombs in the way of calling cards." The dried up little man grimaced in his equivalent of a grin and said, "Hold it, you chaps. I want to notify the others." "The others? What others?" Crawford said. Donaldson ignored him for a moment, unslung the small bag he carried over one shoulder and dipped into it for a tiny, two-way radio. He pressed the buzzer button, then held it up to his mouth. "Jack, Jimmy, Dave. Here we are. Took donkey's years, but I found them. You chaps zero-in here." He left the device on and set it to one side, then yawned and settled himself to the rug-covered ground, crosslegged, Dogon style. Homer Crawford, even as he sat down himself on a footlocker, in lieu of a chair, rapped, "How did you find us? Who did you just radio? Where'd you come from?"