beyond a low ridge at the end of the valley. This apparently sourceless corona fitfully illuminated the darkening air, as if coming from a lighted mineshaft.
Putting away his camera, Kandinski walked forward, within a few minutes reached the ridge, and began to climb it. The face sloped steeply, and he pulled himself up by the hefts of brush and scrub, kicking away footholds in the rocky surface.
Just before he reached the crest he felt his heart surge painfully with the exertion, and he lay still for a moment, a sudden feeling of dizziness spinning in his head. He waited until the spasm subsided, shivering faintly in the cool air, an unfamiliar undertone of uneasiness in his mind. The air seemed to vibrate strangely with an intense inaudible music that pressed upon his temples. Rubbing his forehead, he lifted himself over the crest.
The ridge he had climbed was U-shaped and about 200 feet across, its open end away from him. Resting on the sandy floor in its centre was an enormous metal disc, over 100 feet in diameter and 30 feet high. It seemed to be balanced on a huge conical boss, half of which had already sunk into the sand. A fluted rim ran around the edge of the disc and separated the upper and lower curvatures, which were revolving rapidly in opposite directions, throwing off magnificent flashes of silver light.
Kandinski lay still, as his first feeling of fear retreated and his courage and presence of mind returned. The inaudible piercing music had faded, and his mind felt brilliantly clear. His eyes ran rapidly over the space-ship, and he estimated that it was over twice the size of the craft he had seen three years earlier. There were no markings or ports on the carapace, but he was certain it had not come from Venus.
Kandinski lay watching the space-craft for ten minutes, trying to decide upon his best course of action. Unfortunately he had smashed the lens of his camera. Finally, pushing himself backwards, he slid slowly down the slope. When he reached the floor he could still hear the whine of the rotors. Hiding in the pools of shadow, he made his way up the valley, and two hundred yards from the ridge he broke into a run.
He returned the way he had come, his great legs carrying him across the ruts and boulders, seized his bicycle from the culvert and pedalled rapidly towards the farmhouse.
A single light shone in an upstairs room and he pressed one hand to the bell and pounded on the screen door with the other, nearly tearing it from its hinges. Eventually a young woman appeared. She came down the stairs reluctantly, uncertain what to make of Kandinski’s beard and ragged, dusty clothes.
‘Telephone!’ Kandinski bellowed at her, gasping wildly, as he caught back his breath.
The girl at last unlatched the door and backed away from him nervously. Kandinski lurched past her and staggered blindly around the darkened hall. ‘Where is it?’ he roared.
The girl switched on the lights and pointed into the sitting room. Kandinski pushed past her and rushed over to it.
Ward played with his brandy glass and discreetly loosened the collar of his dress shirt, listening to Dr Maclntyre of Greenwich Observatory, four seats away on his right, make the third of the after-dinner speeches. Ward was to speak next, and he ran through the opening phrases of his speech, glancing down occasionally to con his notes. At 34 he was the youngest member to address the Congress banquet, and by no means unimpressed by the honour. He looked at the venerable figures to his left and right at the top table, their black jackets and white shirt fronts reflected in the table silver, and saw Professor Cameron wink at him reassuringly.
He was going through his notes for the last time when a steward bent over his shoulder. ‘Telephone for you, Dr Ward.’
‘I can’t take it now,’ Ward whispered. ‘Tell them to call later.’
‘The caller said it was extremely urgent, Doctor. Something about some people from the Neptune arriving.’
‘The Neptune?’
‘I think that’s a hotel in Santa Vera. Maybe the Russian delegates have turned up after all.’
Ward pushed his chair back, made his apologies and slipped away.
Professor Cameron was waiting in the alcove outside the banqueting hall when Ward stepped out of the booth. ‘Anything the trouble, Andrew? It’s not your father, I hope—’ ‘It’s Kandinski,’ Ward said hurriedly. ‘He’s out in the desert, near the farm-strip. He says he’s seen another space vehicle.’
‘Oh, is that all.’ Cameron shook his head. ‘Come on, we’d better get back. The poor fool!’
‘Hold on,’ Ward said. ‘He’s got it under observation now. It’s on the ground. He told me to call General Wayne at the air base and alert the Strategic Air Command.’ Ward chewed his lip. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
Cameron took him by the arm. ‘Andrew, come on. Maclntyre’s winding up.’
‘What can we do, though?’ Ward asked. ‘He seemed all right, but then he said that he thought they were hostile. That sounds a little sinister.’
‘Andrew!’ Cameron snapped. ‘What’s the matter with you? Leave Kandinski to himself. You can’t go now. It would be unpardonable rudeness.’
‘I’ve got to help Kandinski,’ Ward insisted. ‘I’m sure he needs it this time.’ He wrenched himself away from Cameron.
‘Ward!’ Professor Cameron called. ‘For God’s sake, come back!’ He followed Ward onto the balcony and watched him run down the steps and disappear across the lawn into the darkness.
As the wheels of the car thudded over the deep ruts, Ward cut the headlights and searched the dark hills which marked the desert’s edge. The warm glitter of Vernon Gardens lay behind him and only a few isolated lights shone in the darkness on either side of the road. He passed the farmhouse from which he assumed Kandinski had telephoned, then drove on slowly until he saw the bicycle Kandinski had left for him.
It took him several minutes to mount the huge machine, his feet well clear of the pedals for most of their stroke. Laboriously he covered a hundred yards, and after careering helplessly into a clump of scrub was forced to dismount and continue on foot.
Kandinski had told him that the ridge was about a mile up the valley. It was almost night and the starlight reflected off the hills lit the valley with fleeting, vivid colours. He ran on heavily, the only sounds he could hear were those of a thresher rattling like a giant metal insect half a mile behind him. Filling his lungs, he pushed on across the last hundred yards.
Kandinski was still lying on the edge of the ridge, watching the space-ship and waiting impatiently for Ward. Below him in the hollow the upper and lower rotor sections swung around more slowly, at about one revolution per second. The space-ship had sunk a further ten feet into the desert floor and he was now on the same level as the observation dome. A single finger of light poked out into the darkness, circling the ridge walls in jerky sweeps.
Then out of the valley behind him he saw someone stumbling along towards the ridge at a broken run. Suddenly a feeling of triumph and exhilaration came over him, and he knew that at last he had his witness.
Ward climbed up the slope to where he could see Kandinski. Twice he lost his grip and slithered downwards helplessly, tearing his hands on the gritty surface. Kandinski was lying flat on his chest, his head just above the ridge. Covered by dust, he was barely distinguishable from the slope itself.
‘Are you all right?’ Ward whispered. He pulled off his bow tie and ripped open his collar. When he had controlled his breathing he crawled up beside Kandinski.
‘Where?’ he asked.
Kandinski pointed down into the hollow.
Ward raised his head, levering himself up on his elbows. For a few seconds he peered out into the darkness, and then drew his head back.
‘You see it?’ Kandinski whispered. His voice was short and laboured. When Ward hesitated before replying he suddenly seized Ward’s wrist in a vice-like grip. In the faint light reflected by the white dust on the ridge Ward could see plainly his bright inflamed eyes.
‘Ward! Can you see it?’
The powerful fingers remained clamped to his wrist as he lay beside Kandinski and gazed down into the darkness.
Below the compartment window one of Ward’s fellow passengers was being seen off by a group of friends, and the young women in bright hats and bandanas and the men in slacks and beach sandals made him feel that he was leaving a seaside resort at the end of a holiday. From the window he could see the observatory domes of Mount Vernon rising out of the trees, and he identified the white brickwork of the Hoyle Library a thousand feet below the summit. Edna Cameron had brought him to the station, but he had asked her not to come onto the platform, and she had said goodbye and driven off. Cameron himself he had seen only once, when he had collected
