“You know,” Councillor Simmons said, “I had a good view of the thing before it went over the trees, and I’m certain it was some kind of aircraft. Seedships never had wings and streamlining, of course. And it was very small.”

“Whatever it is,” Brant said, “we’ll know in five minutes. Look at that light — it’s come down in Earth Park — the obvious place. Should we stop the car and walk the rest of the way?”

Earth Park was the carefully tended oval of grass on the eastern side of First Landing, and it was now hidden from their direct view by the black, looming column of the Mother Ship, the oldest and most revered monument on the planet. Spilling round the edges of the still-untarnished cylinder was a flood of light, apparently from a single brilliant source.

“Stop the car just before we reach the ship,” the mayor ordered. “Then we’ll get out and peek around it. Switch off your lights so they won’t see us until we want them to.”

“Them — or It?” asked one of the passengers, just a little hysterically. Everyone ignored him.

The car came to a halt in the ship’s immense shadow, and Brant swung it round through a hundred and eighty degrees.

“Just so we can make a quick getaway,” he explained, half seriously, half out of mischief; he still could not believe that they were in any real danger. Indeed, there were moments when he wondered if this was really happening. Perhaps he was still asleep, and this was merely a vivid dream.

They got quietly out of the car and walked up to the ship, then circled it until they came to the sharply defined wall of light. Brant shielded his eyes and peered around the edge, squinting against the glare.

Councillor Simmons had been perfectly correct. It was some kind of aircraft — or aerospacecraft — and a very small one at that. Could the Northers? — No, that was absurd. There was no conceivable use for such a vehicle in the limited area of the Three Islands, and its development could not possibly have been concealed.