He gave me his card.” He displayed the card. “All we need to do is light a common strontium nitrate flare at 7:30 P.M. and they’ll be down from their satellite—” “Satellite!” Everyone squawked in amazement. “Then,” Fran said excitedly, “it must be UN-sanctioned. Or do they have a layout and the disc jockeys on the satellite advertise their new mins?” “I don’t know, yet,” Norm admitted. “I mean, at this point there’s a lot of confusion. Wait’ll the dust settles.” “Here on Mars,” Sam Regan said hollowly, “it’ll never settle.”
