The press assembly was noisier than usual for a Friday afternoon briefing. Given the hush-hush deep space probe and curiously silent military security for close to eleven months, Will could not blame the crowd below. His swiped VIP badge allowed a pleasant balcony view without getting crushed by the milling camera crews anxiously assembling tripods, boom mikes, and adjustable lighting before the announcements began.

He felt the envelope buried in his jacket pocket and grinned. He found the photos shoved under his door and knew this was the story of the century. A note promised more after the briefing.

At half past one, a narrow man in an ill-fitting business suit stepped out from behind the curtain and approached the electronic bouquet of microphones arranged around the podium. He wiped his brow nervously with a handkerchief which vanished into his inner jacket pocket. He gave a quick glance at his notes, then cleared his throat .

" Ladies and Gentlemen – we are not alone."