“There’s a tape recorder going.”

“Really?” I’d been kidding.

“You’d better believe it. We can use anything you happen to remember. We still don’t even know how your Monk got out here to California.”

My Monk, forsooth.

“They briefed me pretty quickly yesterday. Did I tell you? I was visiting my parents in Carmel when my supervisor called me yesterday morning. Ten hours later I knew just about everything anyone knows about Monks. Except you, Frazer.

“Up until yesterday we thought that every Monk on Earth was either in the United Nations Building or aboard the Monk ground-to-orbit ship.

“We’ve been in that ship, Frazer. Several men have been through it, all trained astronauts wearing lunar exploration suits. Six Monks landed on Earth—unless more were hiding somewhere aboard. Can you think of any reason why they should do that?”

“No.”

“Neither can anyone else. And there are six Monks accounted for this morning. All in New York. Your Monk went home last night.”

That jarred me. “How?”

“We don’t know. We’re checking plane flights, silly as that sounds. Wouldn’t you think a stewardess would notice a Monk on her flight? Wouldn’t you think she’d go to the newspapers?”

“Sure.”

“We’re also checking flying saucer sightings.”

I laughed. But by now that sounded logical.

“If that doesn’t pan out, we’ll be seriously considering teleportation. Would you…”

“That’s it,” I said without surprise. It had come the way a memory comes, from the back of my mind, as if it had always been there. “He gave me a teleportation pill. That’s why I’ve got absolute direction. To teleport I’ve got to know where in the universe I am.”

Morris got bug-eyed. “You can teleport?”

“Not from a speeding car,” I said with reflexive fear. “That’s death. I’d keep the velocity.”

“Oh.” He was edging away as if I had sprouted horns.