"Carl," he said.
Then he looked about, and his eyes fell on the book he had been reading. He picked it up, and tapped its cover.
"Book," he said.
The stranger took it from his hand.
"Book," he said. "Borsu, Carl. Book."
And the alien smiled.
Woodward handled his request to see Ridgemont, Secretary of Science, with extreme care. He understood the functions and fears of the bureaucrat, the ever-present concern about wasting time on crackpots, lobbyists, representatives of various useless or lunatic fringe groups. He had arranged the meeting through the Secretary of the Navy, and made certain that Ridgemont knew of his good service record, that he was convinced that Woodward was a man of sound mind and character. Only then did he make the appointment.
Yet despite his precautions, Ridgemont looked at Woodward exactly as the doctor knew he would.
"A man from where?" he said.