Caroline crowded close to Ross Ed. “Maybe,” she whispered, “these people know something we don’t.”

As they looked on, the yellow-gold glow slowly intensified, until it grew bright enough to obscure rather than illuminate the now hazy outlines of the alien body. A concerted murmur of repressed excitement rose from the rejuvenated cultists, who thus inspired, redoubled their efforts. Their muddled mantra rose higher than the treetops, violating the sleep of innocent woodland creatures struggling to stay secure in their dislocated slumber.

I’ll be damned, Ross Ed thought silently, if they haven’t activated something.

“See!” Martha’s expression reflected her elation. “We who are the Initiates know. We’ve known the truth all along. If given reason enough, the Visitors will come.” She was serene in her assurance, confident in her knowledge, and most important at all, still secure in her grip on the Mossburg.

Putting an arm around Caroline, who clung tight without being intimidated, Ross watched in silence as the body of his inhuman dead companion grew in brightness until the light completely obscured his silhouette. Jed was now enveloped in a ball of golden efflorescence that was almost too intense to look upon.

They heard the object before they could see it. Faint at first, the low whine sounded like a dying refrigerator compressor. By the time it had grown to a sirenlike wail, several of the more prosaic cultists had begun to whisper among themselves. Signs of mutiny appeared in the hitherto solid ranks. One man broke for the parking area, only to be gently but firmly restrained by his neighbors.

Then they saw the ship.

Ross Ed knew what it was the instant it came sliding into view above the trees on the far side of the lake. Not because he was an expert on extraterrestrial vessels or avionics design, or even because he’d seen his share of speculative films, but because it quite obviously couldn’t be anything else. It wasn’t saucer-shaped, not did it resemble the rockets that launched from Cape Canaveral. As it drew near, wailing insistently, it took on the appearance of a jumble of dark purple cubes, like square grapes. Some joined their neighbors at perfect right angles while others bulged and grew from otherwise flat surfaces. Except for a few orange stripes painted or seared onto several of the larger cubes, the vessel was featureless. Notable for their absence were any glowing lights. A few pinpoints of bright red seemed to dart around the end facing the chanters, like remoras clinging to the lower jaw of a shark.

It was not Ross Ed’s admittedly limited idea of a spaceship.

As the cubist collage hovered a hundred feet above the lake, the cultists bellowed their nonsense with inspired vigor, sounding not unlike a big-city train station at rush hour. Coming to the abrupt realization that what they were experiencing was real and that there might be more to membership in the group than periodic participation in a friendly fraternal organization of like-minded wackos, several of the chanters who couldn’t take it anymore bolted for their vehicles, frantically shucking off their capes as they ran. Their eyes were very wide. Those who remained filled in the resultant gaps without missing a beat.

A big late-model Seville and a Toyota pickup ground to life, only to have their ignitions crash. Instead of emerging, their terrified owners chose to hunker down inside. Ross Ed heard the insistent clack of power door locks engaging. If their vehicles had come equipped with sheets, he reckoned, right about now those inside would be pulling them over their heads.

His own first reaction was to imitate their example, but Martha and her Mossburg were still close, the chipper PTA lady still too alert. Besides, if there was any way to recover him, he didn’t want to abandon Jed. He knew Caroline would go along with whatever he chose to do.

The nearer it came, the bigger the cube-ship grew. Larger than a 747, it filled a respectable portion of the night sky. The red lights flitting around the front end reminded him of giant fireflies. They emitted a tinkling sound which slowly became audible above the whine-wail of the ship itself.

The front end extended twenty feet or so over the meadow as the giant craft settled toward the lake, halting just above the water. Like burgeoning blossoms, additional cubes erupted from the fore underside of the spatial apparition. One made contact with the damp soil and stopped.

The surface facing the onlookers irised open to highlight nearby grass and reeds with a pale pink effulgence. Chanting ceased. The forest seemed to be holding its breath. Even the obstreperous frog was cowed.

The wail-whine died. Towering above the tallest pines, the awkward-looking but incredibly impressive craft continued to hover a foot or so above the water.

Ross Ed whispered to the woman snugged close to him. “Be ready.”

“Be ready?” She frowned up at him. “Ready for what?”

“I dunno. Just … be ready.”

“Is that music coming from those little circling red lights?”

“Sounds like it. I suppose it could be music. Or it might be their version of landing sirens. You’ve seen too many movies, Caroline.”

“I know, but there was nothing in any of them like this.”

A number of the cultists had produced photographic equipment and were busily shooting away with everything from 35mm disposables to elaborate compact digital camcorders. One optimist cursed the slowness of his cheap Polaroid. The noise of so many devices clicking, advancing, and whirring all at once generated a sound more alien than anything coming from the giant craft.

Caroline raised her voice and her hand simultaneously. “Something’s coming one”

Shapes and shadows were distorting the pink glow that poured from the opening. As Walter and one of the other cultists moved forward, Ross Ed saw that they now wore caps surmounted with wire mesh. Little balls rotated within the wire. There were no tiny propellers, but somehow the effect was the same. Mindful of the shotgun’s proximity, he was careful not to laugh.

He strained to see clearly. What would Jed’s people think when they saw their comrade’s corpse? How would they react, not only to the body but to the decidedly eclectic human welcoming committee? He looked forward to finally learning how Jed used his three legs for locomotion.

Two aliens emerged from the open cube. They looked nothing like Jed. Each was nearly seven feet tall and constructed along far more massive lines than the diminutive alien he’d come to know so well. Assuming their bulk was of terrestrial proportions, each must have weighed in the neighborhood of three or four hundred pounds.

Neither wore helmet or faceplate. Both legs were thick, muscular, and jointed front and back at the knee. Far slimmer arms reached the ground, giving the arrivals an incongruously apelike posture if not appearance. Blocky, rectangular skulls composed a third of the total body length. The two eyes were oval instead of round like Jed’s. Wide, down-curving mouths were located directly beneath the ocular orbits. While there was no indication of nostrils, the ears were external and high-set, looping up and over to meet atop the skull. At least, he assumed they were ears. They looked distinctly cary.

In the absence of recognizable hands, each arm split at the end into a dozen flexible digits eight to nine inches in length. Pale lavender shirts and shorts crossed with diagonal black stripes hid the remainder of their anatomies.

Tubes running from large backpacks ended in cuplike cones. At periodic intervals the visitors would place the latter over their mouths and appear to inhale deeply. Or exhale. Given the distance, Ross couldn’t tell. Smaller packs clung to the back of each massive leg. When one considered the length of those arms, the arrangement made sense.

Walter and his companion approached slowly but without fear, occasionally pausing to bow or bless with upraised palms. Halting a couple of yards in front of the two aliens, who had observed this overture silently, Walter spread both arms wide and launched into a florid invocation of welcome. What he could hear of it didn’t make much sense to Ross Ed. It was impossible to know what the aliens were making of it.

Walter turned occasionally to variously point at the crescent of awed spectators, the sky, the forest, the ground, and not infrequently or immodestly, himself. After several minutes of this the two aliens exchanged a look. If they spoke, their speech was inaudible to human ears, or at least Ross Ed’s.

Waiter shut up and his companion started in, exhibiting an equal amount of enthusiasm and energy. Again the two aliens exchanged a glance. Then the one nearest the humans drew back his right leg and promptly kicked the more-than-a-little-startled speaker right between his legs. It was impossible to know whether this was due to a detailed knowledge of human physiology or simple chance. In any event, it did not matter to the erstwhile greeter, who with great alacrity reacted to this First Contact between mankind and another intelligent alien species by ceasing his blabbering and crumpling wordlessly to the ground. On the spot Ross Ed made a decision not to apply for the position of ambassador to whatever world these particular aliens happened to call home.

Employing half a dozen digits on its left arm, the second creature removed from a leg pouch a device which most nearly resembled a tapered gallon jug. The narrow end was promptly raised in the direction of the assembled cultists.

The ground in front of them exploded, sending clumps of torn grass and heavy clods of dirt flying. There was hardly any noise. Instantly, all thoughts of chanting departed the minds of the assembled. With shrieks and shouts the line broke and scattered, some running for their cars, others melting into the woods.

Caroline was tugging at his hand. “Ross Ed, come on, we’ve got to get out of here!”

He hesitated. “I can’t.” She couldn’t budge him. Three women couldn’t have budged him. He started forward. “I’ve got to get Jed.”

“Are you insane?” Dirt flew over them as the alien continued to sweep the meadow with the weapon, or portable excavator, or whatever it was.

Meanwhile its companion had picked up Walter and was shaking him violently. Disdaining marital vows in favor of common sense, Martha had abandoned both Mossburg and husband in favor of making a run for it. She was nowhere to be seen.

Kicking and squealing, Walter was lifted into the night air. For his part, at least, it was not necessary to enter into a debate as to whether or not there had been a breakdown in interspecies communications. As he picked his way toward the altar a hunched-over Ross Ed could hear him pleading with his captor.

By this time the second alien had put down its jug gun and picked up the unfortunate greeter he’d booted in the ’nads. Holding the man at arm’s length, it began to slap him back and forth across the face, using its dozen or so flexible digits like a handful of tiny whips. As he raced onto the meadow Ross Ed could hear the methodical slap-slap of tentacle on skin.

Caroline was shouting after him. “Ross Ed, dammit, if you get yourself killed I’ll never speak to you again!”

“Get the van!” he yelled back at her. “I don’t think they want to kill anybody. If that was what they had in mind, they’d have done so by now.”

“Maybe they’re just bad shots!” Seeing that she couldn’t dissuade him, she turned and ran toward the Ford.

Ross had to dodge a wave of panicked cultists and, in one instance, actually shove someone out of the way. As he drew nearer he saw that the glow from Jed’s suit was beginning to fade. Frequent sideways glances showed that the two aliens hadn’t moved from where they’d stopped. The second had finally put down his human, who was presently engaged in trying to evacuate the scene by crawling away slowly at the maximum speed he could muster.

Having been shaken until his eyeballs felt loose inside his head, Walter hung flaccid in the other alien’s digits. It was impossible to tell whether he’d been knocked out or had simply fainted. With what sounded like a disgusted belch, the creature tossed the unconscious store owner aside. Reaching into a leg pouch, it extracted another of the jug-shaped devices.

Together, the pair resumed venting their opinion on the surrounding countryside. A pair of sixty-foot pines came crashing down. More inoffensive meadow erupted skyward in comparative silence. The only time Ross Ed winced at the bloodless carnage was when a beautifully restored 1957 Ford Thunderbird became the focus of alien destruction. Taking a direct hit from one of the jugs, it shuddered like a movie critic at an Italian made-for-video film festival before exploding in a shower of fiery metal fragments and expensive restoration parts.

Preoccupied, the aliens ignored Ross as he darted forward, snatched Jed from atop the crude altar, and broke into an end run for the parking area. Cars continued to blow up in front of him. All were unoccupied, confirming his hypothesis concerning alien intent.

He’d expected the suit to be hot to the touch, or at least tingly, but the intense glow it had generated left no aftereffects. It felt the same as always. As he ran he took a moment to study the alien visage visible through the faceplate.

“I wish you could tell me what that was all about!” Unsurprisingly, Jed chose not to reply.