Proxima, nearest star to Sol, glowed brilliant in his path. Beyond it he could see Alpha Centauri, huge and bright. The other stars, too, he recognized. For he was out among the star trails now, and Sol was a dot behind him.
And ever as he flew onward, always as his height grew and grew until he straddled a thousand worlds, the call came clearer. He knew now that he had been summoned from the Earth; knew that ahead of him was an intelligence demanding his presence.
They knew they had been summoned, that far ahead something demanded their presence.
Insanely he flung himself out and up, searching the odd and sometimes terrible worlds that flitted past his eyes. Alien life, spawning on planets so far from Earth that they were undreamed, lived and died beneath his gaze as he shot by.
The call came clarion clear, at last.
It said: "Creature of the Third Planet of the sun named Sol. Heed me. You have done well to find me, very well. Turn your gaze this way, Earthling. A little further. Yes, right there.