Foster sprawled in a dignified pose in the chair facing them. "As one gets used to it," he continued unmindfully, "it fades to its proper insignificance. Then a man can truly visualize the worth of feminine companionship--the slippers, the evening paper, the scratching of one's back--" Gwyn was laughing. The tension was going out of her shapely, young body. Her gaze was mirthful, speculative--especially when her glance slid over to Morrow. "One finds," Foster went on, "that the prime essence of--of--" He broke off with a violent sneeze. Morrow finished his coffee, set his cup aside, and rose. "We'd better take off," he said flatly. He turned and faced them. Smitty and Foster were looking at him with a silent reproof. Gwyn's eyes were on the floor. She set her cup aside, untouched. Morrow returned their look without expression. Something danced and giggled and rolled, hugging its sides with laughter, inside him, but he kept it off his face. "Gwyn!" he said. His tone was sharp, insistent. She stood up uncertainly. "I'd--I'd better be getting home, too," she said. "Right." He nodded. "We've got to get off before sunrise catches us--we'll be safe over the Pennsylvania brush country." "All right." She moved toward him, toward the bulk-head door at his back. He reached out and touched her shoulder, stopping her before him. "When we get back, I'll write you," he said gruffly. "Meanwhile, you can be straightening out your affairs here, and--in a couple of weeks or so--" She looked at him, then. Eyes wide open and shining, lips parted. "Well, don't just _stand_ there!" Smitty bellowed indignantly. "Go on and _kiss her_!" * * * * * It was hardly a month later when Morrow stood in the doorway of the sawmill-workshop, his arm around Gwyn, and said, "We need a good mechanical engineer! Can't get anywhere without him--" And a small, gray-haired man sat up in bed, a few nights later, and stared at the two strange creatures standing before him. Their heads were dark, featureless globes. Their bodies were covered with a bright, shimmering skin. He noted vaguely that the female of the species was stacked quite well. "Can't do anything without a good structural engineer!" the little man snapped angrily, a few months later, as they were standing around a littered workbench. A slender, middle-aged woman stepped off the bus and walked up the quiet, dark street toward her home. Then she froze, a scream stuck in her throat, as several weird creatures swarming out of the shadows.... A Northern Airlines pilot glanced out at the port wing of the giant, humming stratoliner. His mouth fell open, then he grabbed his co-pilot's shoulder and pointed out toward the wingtip. Two sleek, fish-like little ships were flying perfect formation with the big plane, their black silhouettes outlined sharply in the warm summer moonlight.