His articles were in continuous demand in both magazines and newspaper supplements; editors clamored for additional material from his voco-typer. There was but one complaint against his copy--it wasn't alarmist enough, sensational enough. Humanity had been whipped into a state of hysteria, an emotional binge, and humanity loved it. And it was there that Markham Gray refused to go along. He had agreed with poor Captain Post, now serving a life sentence in the Martian prison camps; there had been no sign of hostility from the alien craft. It was man who was preparing for war--and Gray knew of no period in history in which preparations for war did not eventually culminate in one. So it was not really strange that it was he the aliens chose to contact. It came in the early hours of the morning. He awakened, not without a chill of fear, the sound of his telviz set in his ears. He had left it turned off, he knew that. He shook his head to clear it, impatient of the fact that with advancing years it was taking an increasing time to become alert after sleep. He had not caught the message. For a brief moment he thought the sound had been a dream. Then the telviz spoke again. The screen was blank. It said, _You are awake, Mr. Gray?_ He stared at it, uncomprehending. He said, "I ... I don't understand." Then, suddenly, he did understand, as though by an inspired revelation. Why they were able to speak Amer-English. Why their ship looked like a Terran one. Why they had been able to 'disrupt' the Earth ships instruments. He said haltingly, "Why are you here?" _We are familiar with your articles. You alone, Mr. Gray, seem at least to seek understanding. Before we left, we felt it our duty to explain our presence and our purpose--that is, partially._ "Yes," he said. Then, in an attempt to check the conclusion at which he had just arrived, he added, "You are going from the Solar System--leaving your home for a new one?" There was a long silence. Finally: _As we said, we were going to explain partially our presence and purpose, but obviously you know more than we had thought. Would you mind revealing the extent of your knowledge?_ Gray reached to the foot of the bed and took up his night robe; partly because it was chilly, partly to give himself time to consider his answer. Perhaps he shouldn't have said that. He was alone in this small house; he had no knowledge of their intentions toward him. But he had gone too far now. He said, "Not at all. I am not sure of where we stand, but things should be much clearer, shortly. First of all, your spaceships are tiny. Probably less than ten pounds." _About four, Mr. Gray._