The hand-rigged transceiver was still humming, tuned to the sending band of the circling ship, and the young man who had started it all was sitting on the edge of the TV platform with his chin resting in one hand. He did not look up as the Times approached, but it was the indifference of preoccupation, not discourtesy.
The Times sat down on the edge of the platform beside him and took out a pack of cigarettes, then remembered the coming TV broadcast and the ban on smoking. He put them away, thoughtfully watching the diminishing rain spray against the streaming windows.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
Nathen showed that he was aware and friendly by a slight motion of his head.
"You tell me."
"Hunch," said the Times man. "Sheer hunch. Everything sailing along too smoothly, everyone taking too much for granted."
Nathen relaxed slightly. "I'm still listening."
"Something about the way they move...."
Nathen shifted to glance at him.