"My orders were to make contact with this solar system. My ship is at the bottom of the sea. I have to be near water or die. And every time I try to make contact I'm left alone on a craft of this sort." "You mean they jump overboard?" "That's exactly what I mean." "You're from another galaxy?" "Yes. My planet is covered with water. Your planet is the best one in this system which has water on it. That's why I'm here." "But you're not in water now." "My gills can still absorb it. As long as I'm near it." "Well, what do you want me to do?" "I want to meet someone with responsibility." "I wouldn't be able to get anyone to come out here with a story like that. They wouldn't believe me. I'd end up with the professor." "Then take me with you." "But you wouldn't be near water. Wait a minute. I can leave you in the tub." "Anything. I just want to get this mission over with." "I can wrap you up in wet towels. I can drive you to my place and go bring someone back with me." "Anything. Anything. Just let's get on with it." "Why, I might be making history. I may become famous." "Will you please start this craft back to land?" "Sure thing. Just a second," I started the motor and headed for land. Me. Carol Engelholtz. A liaison between two planets. I never felt so excited in my life. Why, it was more exciting than hooking a sailfish. "There's my lodge," I shouted, pointing at the bluff just over a rise. "You stay there alone?" Hrodes asked. "I have a cook and a housekeeper. But they won't bother you. You'll stay in the tub in my bathroom while I go fetch somebody. But who do I go fetch?" "Anyone with responsibility. I want to get this over with." "Yes, yes, I know. Your mission." I docked the launch, soaked towels, wrapped them around Hrodes, carried him--or she--to my car, and in fifteen minutes I was home. * * * * * I left Hrodes in the tub and went back to the car. Miami was too far off. There was a small town called Chesterville a few miles away. It seemed the only place to go. "There ain't no F.B.I. branch here," a deputy behind a battered desk said. He was about sixty, with a skinny neck that was covered with half dollar size blotches. "Better try Miami. Why? What's the matter? Find some subversives? A lot of subversives in Florida." "No, no, nothing like that. Look, there must be a school or some kind of place for learning here." "Shore thing. We gotta school." "Isn't there a professor teaching there, maybe?" "Nope. But we got old Mrs. Henshaw. Husband died about six years ago. Old bag. I think she's been running around lately with some tourist from Iowa. Now if you're just lookin' for any old professor, then--" "That's right," I said, grasping at a straw. "Any old professor. Is there one in town?" "Professor Klugelmeyer. Used to teach at some eastern college. Kind of dopey, though, I think. Funny old gaffer. Believes in flyin' saucers. Can you imagine?" "Where do I reach him?"