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someone who does?”
    Eddington grew cautious. “Possibly.”
    “Then there’s something—someone—you’ll want to hear about.” Chandliss hesitated; he needed to pass along the celestial coordinates of the source but was afraid to say them too openly. “Her name is Cassiopeia. The best address I have is 105 Right Avenue—”
    “Do you mean the right ascension is one hour five minutes?”
    “Yes. If you can’t find her, she has a friend named Deke at 54 North—”
    “Understood. Declination, fifty-four degrees. Plus, of course. But look, Chandliss—you don’t understand—I can’t simply—”
    “You have to get in touch, Larry. Cassiopeia SEH, Larry.” He spelled out the last “name” with deliberate slowness. “You won’t regret it. You have to remember—remember Frank and Carl and the Order of the Dolphin!” His voice rose higher than he had intended.
    “You’re saying you’ve detected some sign of intelligent life?”
    “Exactly! Exactly! I won’t be jealous—she’s more than I can handle here. I’ll count on you to help. There’s no one left here to care for her, no one. She needs a lot of attention, Larry—a lot of attention.”
    Eddington made a staccato noise deep in his throat. “How accurate are those coordinates?” Chandliss forgot where he was for a moment. “As good as they can be with a five-metre dish and no interferometry. Under the circumstances—”
    “And what wavelengths?”
    “She’s around nineteen.”
    Eddington’s sigh was louder than the static. “All right-I don’t know what I can do, but at least there are two of us now that know. How can I reach you?”
    “I can be here at this time two weeks from now.” The Radioman was moving toward him, giving him the cutoff signal.
    “Ah—”
    “That will have to do. Good-bye, Larry. I’m very glad to have talked to you again,” he said, as the Radioman switched off the set.
    “That okay?” Chandliss asked. The Radioman checked his watch. “Uh-huh. What was that all about, anyway?”
    “Is that part of your fee, the right to listen in?” Chandliss intended it as a humorous comment, but his underlying annoyance at the question came through.
    “It was just a friendly inquiry,” Radioman said, his expression anything but friendly. “Of course. And that’s what the call was about—keeping in touch with a friend.”
    “Not keeping real good touch, as many numbers as we called.”
    “That’s right. It’s hard, these days.”
    “And not many people around here keep friends in England, either,” Radioman said as he checked the meter. “This woman, she must be something special. Wha’d you say her name was?”
    “Cassiopeia,” Chandliss said, counting out the coins.
    “Funny name.”
    “Not where she’s from.”
    “I suppose not. Yeah, must be something special. Most people come to me got good reason, got somebody dying or sent a child to California or need the government folks in Boise. Must be something special, for you to come so far and spend so much,” Radioman said. “All right—hop on the cycle, and bring the batteries back up.”
    He watched as Chandliss clambered awkwardly astride the bike and began to turn the pedals, then shook his head and stepped outside. He returned a few minutes later with Heincke and three other townsmen. Chandliss did not notice them immediately; in fact, he did not look up until Heincke said sharply, “Doctor?”
    They waited until he was finished to arrest him.

Chapter 3
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The Convert
    Eddington cursed aloud in the darkness of his room, trying to conceive of a more unwanted call than the one he had just received.
    He failed.
    Had Chandliss known Laurence Eddington better, he could have predicted that his ancient phone number would still be in use. Several generations of Eddingtons had called Crown House home, and though his depleted state had forced Laurence to close the main house and take up residence in the servants’ wing, tradition was