“Yes. I saw your men.”

“Then you agree?”

“I agree,” Thomas Cole said. “I’ll wire it for you. I’ll complete the control turret—within the next five days.”

IV

Three days later Joseph Dixon slid a closed-circuit message plate across the desk to his boss.

“Here. You might be interested in this.”

Reinhart picked the plate up slowly. “What is it? You came all the way here to show me this?”

“That’s right.”

“Why didn’t you vidscreen it?”

Dixon smiled grimly. “You’ll understand when you decode it. It’s from Proxima Centaurus.”