"Bidagha!" Pehn called softly. "Up here!"
The tall figure paused, then ran lightly up the steps out in the sloping hill.
"Has something happened?"
"Hurry. My copter is waiting back there, and I'll take you to signal dome. Then I'll have to go home. If I'm not there for breakfast, my father will begin another lecture on depravity of youth."
Bidagha's eyes twinkled. "Premier Karn is pretty conscious of his responsibilities to nation, Pehn, but perhaps eighteen years ought to be more respectful of fifty. I am nearly latter myself, you know. But what has happened?"
Pehn raised his arm and pointed towards Weaver. "We're getting signals. We think maybe they come from some planet of Topaz."
Bidagha clasped his strong hands on his breast. His black hair, curling over a high, olive forehead, was held in place by the narrow green band of his calling. Under his little mustache his mouth was firm and serene, and his gray eyes were exalted as he stared at the fading yellow star.
"At last!" he said.
The bluish sun of Zenob had risen by the time Pehn got home. He sat through the family breakfast with his parents and his sister, thankful that his night's absence had apparently not been noticed.