“Y’know, old woman,” he said with a sigh as he turned up the thermostat on his pajamas a notch, “you’d think that after sixty years o’ marriage you’d have learned to listen to me once in a while.”

“Oh very well!” She crossed her arms defiantly across her chest. “Stubborn old coot. Have it your way. If you say it’s a giant alien spaceship, then it’s a giant alien spaceship.” She delivered the concession with a derisive snort.

Oblivious to such external evaluations, the immense Drex vessel continued to ascend. Beneath it Mt. Pulaski was no more, and Lake Woneapenigong but a forlorn gouge in the earth, its waters having completely drained away into underground cracks and chambers.

What was even more impressive was that the Hawthornes and those of their fellow Villagers who were now awake and had not run screaming for cover were only beginning to get a look at its entire mass.

“Everything is very much changed.” The Autothor hovered close to the five elderly hikers. It did not count the serving robot.

Now that they were aboveground there was plenty to see, such as the extensive damp hole in the surface where Lake Woneapenigong used to be. The cavity the disappearing waters left behind suggested the extraction of a giant’s tooth, but it was nothing compared to the newly created east-west canyon which marked the former burial location of the Drex ship.

Beyond lay the glittering lights of Lake Woneapenigong Village, no structure rising higher than three stories. Most of the lights within seemed to be on. As they continued to ascend, the lights of other communities became visible. Iranaputra thought he recognized Tolver’s Crossing, Josephson Town, North and South Brookgreen, and the irregular sheet of moonlit water which had to be Saddlebag Lake.

“I wonder if we are making a lot of noise,” Shimoda murmured.

“As little as possible. No need to waste energy.” The glowing ellipse hovered near his shoulder, giving a blue cast to his pale skin. So accustomed had they become to its presence that Shimoda didn’t even flinch at its proximity. It gave off only a little heat.

“You should excuse my asking, but how high do you intend to take this ship or whatever it is?” Gelmann asked the question without turning, fascinated by the increasingly panoramic nocturnal view.

“How high do you want to go?” the Autothor responded.

She glanced at her companions. “I hadn’t given it any thought. I suppose this is high enough.”

The situation in which they found themselves immediately and obediently stopped rising.

“I’d estimate we’re about three hundred meters.” Immune to vertigo, Follingston-Heath stood right up against the perfect transparency. “Not much air traffic in these parts even in the daytime, and at this altitude we should be well below regular flight patterns.”

“There aren’t any normal patterns hereabouts anymore. Not with this thing smack in the middle of ’em.” Hawkins glanced at the twinkling Blueness. “How big is this ship of yours, anyway?”

“It’s not mine. It’s Drex. In the current local terminology … let me think. I find my fluency woefully deficient.”

“You’re doing fine.” Gelmann reached out to give the ellipse an instinctive, reassuring pat, thought better of it, and drew her fingers back.

“Some minor transposing … in length the Ship is approximately one hundred or so of your kilometers. Width varies considerably from point to point, but …”

“Are you saying to us,” Iranaputra asked, interrupting, “that this craft is a hundred kilometers long?”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s right. In width …”

“Never mind, we get the picture.” Hawkins was rubbing his lips with a forefinger, a bad habit of some forty years standing. “That’s a pretty damn big ship. In fact, that’s bigger than any ship ever imagined, much less built. The federation and the Keiretsu together wouldn’t even attempt it.”

“You’re sure this is a ship?” In spite of the evidence Shimoda was still reluctant to believe.

“Naw,” said Hawkins. “It’s a hundred-kilometer-long gopher trap designed to clear out every lawn in the Adiron-dacks.”

“Of course this is a ship.” The Autothor was not in the least put off by their skepticism. “It is the Ship.”

“Well, then,” asked Gelmann, “where’s the crew?”

“Good question, Mina.” Follingston-Heath stared at the bobbing ellipse. “Where is the crew, old thing?”

“Isn’t that interesting?” the Autothor confessed. “I don’t know.”

“You’re not the crew, are you?” Gelmann wondered.

“Certainly not. What do you take me for?”

“A ball of sky-blue fairy dust,” Hawkins muttered, “but that’s not gonna get us anywhere.”

“I am a voice-responsive component of the Ship,” the ellipse deposed. “I respond, I activate, I comply and maintain, but I am not one of the crew.”

“Then where is it?” Follingston-Heath asked again.

“Doesn’t seem to be any, does there?” The Autothor rotated neatly on its vertical axis. “There really is no precedence for this. But in the absence of any other self-evident crew I suppose you’re it.”

“No thanks,” Hawkins replied hastily. “We’re just visiting.”

“Our home is in Lake Woneapenigong Village,” Iranaputra added, though he suspected they would have to change the name now. Too bad. “Mudhole Village” didn’t have quite the same cachet.

“According to pre-hiatal information, in the absence of definitive Drex,” the ellipse explained, “any command-capable organics present qualify as crew.”

“Screw command-capable organics.” The serving robot startled them all. “What about me? How come I can’t be part of the crew?”

“You are a mechanical, a machine.”

“And what the Forge are you? An angelic ansaphone?”

“Not … a machine,” the ellipse retorted. “Nor a Drex. Suggest concentrated Gestalt by way of definition. Anyway,” it concluded somewhat huffily, “it’s none of your business.”

“Oh, so it’s none of my business? Let me tell you something …”

Follingston-Heath clapped a hand firmly on the robot’s spherical head. “See here, old thing. Although I’ve no actual experience in this area, it strikes me that it might not be wise to provoke an already confused alien whatsis imbued with unknown powers, what? So be a good gadget and cease and desist.”

Given its present state of mechanical mind, the serving robot might have been capable of ignoring the command, but it chose not to.

“I wonder what a Drex was?” Gelmann mused aloud.

“Never mind that, Mina.” Shimoda scrutinized the ellipse. “We need to concentrate on our present situation so that we can resolve it to our advantage.” His stomach rumbled audibly. “Viz the fact that we have already missed dinner.”

“From your comment I infer that you are concerned about organic sustenance.” The Autothor bounced in slow motion off the deck. “There is food on board, though after a million years I imagine it may no longer be to your taste.”

“It may no longer be food,” Hawkins commented.

“Not to worry,” the ellipse assured them. “I can see to the synthesis of a great variety of organic compounds. Grant me, please, a moment for contemplation.”

The room filled with an explosive turquoise glare so intense that Gelmann cried out and everyone else covered their eyes. It dissipated fast, leaving them blinking but otherwise none the visible worse for the experience.

“Structural analysis is complete. I infer that to ensure adequate continued operation, your physiologies require the regular ingestion of certain carbon-based compounds, in addition to modest quantities of water. This is not unexpected. A portion of the Ship designed to supply such compounds is presently undergoing necessary reprogramming in order to serve these needs. To put it more succinctly, dinner will be along shortly.”