“I still think they’re cities,” Olgren said, with a defiant dance at Ransisc.

“They’re too big and too bright,” the senior steerer said patiently; the argument, plainly, had been going on for some time.

“This is your first trip off-planet, isn’t it, Olgren?” Togram asked.

“Well, what if it is?”

“Only that you don’t have enough perspective. Egelloc on Roxolan has almost a million people, and from space it’s next to invisible at night. It’s nowhere near as bright as those lights, either. Remember, this is a primitive planet. I admit it looks like there’s intelligent life down there, but how could a race that hasn’t even stumbled across the hyperdrive build cities ten times as great as Egelloc?”

“I don’t know,” Olgren said sulkily. “But from what little I can see by moonlight, those lights look to be in good spots for cities—on coasts, or along rivers, or whatever.”

Ransisc sighed. “What are we going to do with him, Togram? He’s so sure he knows everything, he won’t listen to reason. Were you like that when you were young?”

“Till my clanfathers beat it out of me, anyway. No need getting all excited, though. Soon enough the flyers will go down with their luofi, and then we’ll know.” He swallowed a snort of laughter, then sobered abruptly, hoping he hadn’t been as gullible as Olgren when he was young.

“I have one of the alien vessels on radar,” the SR-81 pilot reported. “It’s down to 50,000 meters and still descending.” He was at his own plane’s operational ceiling, barely half as high as the ship entering atmosphere.

“For God’s sake, hold your fire,” ground control ordered. The command had been dinned into him before he took off, but the brass were not about to let him forget. He did not really blame them. One trigger-happy idiot could ruin humanity forever.