The annunciator hummed and spoke. "Captain, I'm getting a very short wave transmission from a point out on the starboard bow. Does that sound like your torpedo?" It was Mannion. "That's it, Mannion," I said. "Can you make anything of it?" "No, sir," he answered. "I'm taping it, so I can go to work on it." Mannion was our language and code man. I hoped he was good. "What does it sound like," I asked. "Tune me in." After a moment a high hum came from the speaker. Through it I could hear harsh chopping consonants, a whining intonation. I doubted that Mannion would be able to make anything of that gargle. Our Bogie closed steadily. At four hundred twenty-five miles he reversed relative directions, and began matching our speed, moving closer to our course. There was no doubt he planned to parallel us. I made a brief announcement to all hands describing the status of the action. Clay worked over his televideo, trying to clear the image. I watched as the blob on the screen swelled and flickered. Suddenly it flashed into clear stark definition. Against a background of sparkling black, the twin spheres gleamed faintly in reflected starlight. There were no visible surface features; the iodine-colored forms and their connecting shaft had an ancient and alien look. We held our course steadily, watching the stranger maneuver. Even at this distance it looked huge. "Captain," Clay said, "I've been making a few rough calculations. The two spheres are about 800 yards in diameter, and at the rate the structure is rotating it's pulling about six gravities." That settled the question of human origin of the ship. No human crew would choose to work under six gee's. Now, paralleling us at just over two hundred miles, the giant ship spun along, at rest relative to us. It was visible now through the direct observation panel, without magnification. * * * * * I left Clay in charge on the bridge, and I went down to the Com Section. Joyce sat at his board, reading instruments and keying controls. So he was back on the job. Mannion sat, head bent, monitoring his recorder. The room was filled with the keening staccato of the alien transmission. "Getting anything on video?" I asked. Joyce shook his head. "Nothing, Captain. I've checked the whole spectrum, and this is all I get. It's coming in on about a dozen different frequencies; no FM." "Any progress, Mannion?" I said. He took off his headset. "It's the same thing, repeated over and over, just a short phrase. I'd have better luck if they'd vary it a little." "Try sending," I said. Joyce tuned the clatter down to a faint clicking, and switched his transmitter on. "You're on, Captain," he said.