Even the accidental arrival on Earth of an alien entity could
be a difficult situation for human beings to face. Especially
if the alien were small — and different — and decided that
Earth would be a suitable planet upon which to live if it were
suitably altered.
As automatic mechanisms detected the presence of a gravitational field, the tiny vessel began to lose its extreme velocity.
From thousandfold multiples of the speed of light, its rapid
motion fell quickly, and it touched atmosphere at fifty-thousand
miles per second, a blue radiance playing before it, braking its
descent to the planet below.
Self-acting equipment flicked into life, sending an instantaneous
stream of code signals back to base in the remote Ursa Minor
group. The planet which the vessel should have reached was
uncountable light-years more distant. But in travelling from Ursa
Minor an infinitesimal error in mechanical design had combined
with a minute mistake in calculation, bringing the vessel near a
planet it should have passed at five million miles. Automechanisms responsible for landing had been actuated, turning the
vessel to Earth. It was an error, but a safe termination to the
journey seemed likely .... Information conveyed, the sub-radio
clicked into silence.
Woodland arose below. Hurtling like a cannon ball, still braking,
the vessel struck the topmost cleft of a huge elm, split wood to
right and left, and sank into the core of the tree, sap hissing at
contact with the white-hot metal. Cooling was slow, the vessel,
scarcely a foot in diameter and two long, burning its way into the
tree’s heart. Smoke rose, drifting on the wind, and the split limbs
of the tree closed over the opening.
Soon even the smoke had gone and the tree stood silent. In the
vessel its single occupant slept on, not conditioned to awake until
such time as the ship should have reached its far-distant objective.
Nowhere in the non-physical entity of the alien’s brain was any
awareness that motion had ceased. The planet-fall should have
been much more controlled, occupying hours; but Jalit slept on
while Spring came and the growing elm closed its vigorous bark
around the wound. Only at infrequent intervals did the sub-radio
click into action, signalling across the galaxies to remote Ursa
Minor, where Jalit’s companions waited patiently for Jalit to awake
and report.
Jim Donnels waved the timber-wagon driver to a halt. The thud
of the diesel motor ceased, and the wagon came to rest under the
timber-yard gantry. Jim walked behind the wagon, eyeing the
great elm trunk speculatively. Sixteen, he hoped one day to be
much more than odd-job man at the yard. Hammerfield & Sperry
was growing, prospering, and he felt that with luck his fortunes
might rise with it. Sperry was business-like, quick, but gave promotion, responsibility and wage increases where deserved. Jim’s
freckled snub nose wrinkled with a grin. He liked Mr. Sperry.
The tree was big, even with side branches gone. Jim’s quick
gaze sought for nails or embedded fencing wire dangerous for the
band-saw. But apparently no farmer had ever nailed rails to the
giant, or. used it as a post for barbed-wire fencing. Only very high
was a healed wound, as if wind had broken the top.
A man came from the mill, thumbs stuck in breeches belt. Big,
broad, his roar echoed among the piles of sawn, stacked timber.
“ Loitering again, young Donnels ! ” he accused.
Jim jumped involuntarily. Slight and sandy, a boy though
tough, he could never be a match for Colin McMurdo, thrice his
age and nearly twice his weight. McMurdo halted, bare arms like
a pugilist’s folded over his chest, muscles knotted under hairy skin.
“ I’ll have a word with Mr. Sperry about you, young shaver ! ”
he stated nastily. “Been wasting time again on what don’t concern you? ”
Jim flushed. “ I was checking for nails ! There’s an old split
near the top.” He hoped McMurdo wouldn’t tell lies to Mr. Sperry.
A foreman’s word carried weight, and McMurdo knew it. The
roaring voice could shout down any man at the yard, and often did.
Undeniably curious, wanting to learn, Jim had suffered his share
of abuse. McMurdo, more muscle than brain, loved to belittle him.
The foreman walked heavily round the carriage and stared at
the scar. His lower lip jutted out, and his heavy round face was
momentarily set in ponderous concentration.
“ Struck by lightning years ago ! ” he stated at last.
The tree was lowered to earth, sawn into four twelve-foot sections,
and the largest hoisted by gantry and deposited on the carriage of
the band-saw. The carriage began to move forward, the saw to
run, ripping its first cut along the length of timber. Noon had
come when the first sections were finished, and piles of boards had
been drawn away numbered and stacked. Sweating, Jim examined
the scar on the final section. If the damage had gone deep it would
spoil a lot of planks, he thought.
The band-saw was screaming steel two inches wide, seventy feet
long, and running round two wheels eight feet in diameter. It
showered a cataract of sawdust as the first few cuts were taken
along the edge of the last piece of the great elm.
Jim mopped his brow, resting momentarily. It had been a hard
morning. No wind cooled the yard, and the high sun shone with
scorching summer heat, shimmering on the surrounding countryside and on the long stretch of woodland a mile away, hiding the
nearest town, and Hammerfield & Sperry head offices.
The shriek of steel teeth on something infinitely hard jerked his
mind back to the creeping carriage. His ears rang from the
violence of sound. The howl of friction became a vibrant scream,
shuddered, then a sharp explosion echoed through the yard. The
broken saw, no longer a continuous loop running between the
wheels, snaked past him, one end slithering into the saw pit. Its
teeth were blunted, turned back by contact with something harder
than steel. Someone switched off the motor. No one spoke as
Colin McMurdo vividly declared everyone but himself was a fool.
“Damn me, but Mr. Sperry will hear of this! ” He swore and
his eyes, fierce with anger, settled on Jim. “ You said there was
no sign of metal — ”
Stung, Jim faced him, “ There wasn’t ! I showed you the
scar — ! ”
Fingers closed painfully on his shoulder. “Who’s supposed to
look over trees when they come in? Not me ! Think I’ve nothing
better to do? ” McMurdo snorted. “ Mr. Sperry will have something to say about this! ”
Jim felt fury and helplessness. “ It wasn’t my fault ! ”
As reply McMurdo pushed him. He caught a heel, fell, and
landed flat and bruised on the band-saw carriage rails. McMurdo
scarcely looked.
“ Get axes and chop out what the kid missed ! ”
A gang began working on the trunk, and Jim wondered what
manner of object could be present in a position once so high above
ground level, and hard enough to break the tempered saw. As
chips flew a gleaming metallic surface, curved and smooth, came
into view. Astonished, they worked on, exposing it. The saw had
made no scratch in tearing itself to destruction. Finally stood
revealed a metallic ovoid about two feet long and one foot in
diameter, without aperture or markings, but with four equi-distant
fins, joined by a metal cross-member, at one end.
McMurdo pushed back his greasy engineer’s cap when he saw it.
“ Some kid’s toy spaceship, I warrant ! ” he said.
He tried to jerk it away, but failed. Standing on the log, feet
spread wide, he also struggled without success, and Jim saw muscles
bulge on his neck and ripple under his blue shirt. After a second
attempt he straightened.
“ Hook the gantry on it ! ”
Dangling, the object was lifted from its resting place and
deposited on the ground. They all examined it from every angle,
then rolled it laboriously to the side of the sawmill building, where
the gantry terminated. McMurdo stared at it, hands on his belt-face showing frustration and annoyance, opened his mouth to
speak, then snapped it shut with an audible click. A blast from
the dinner whistle saved him the need for comment.
Jim fingered, fascinated by the smoothness and finish of the
discovery. Perhaps a type of bomb which some craft had dropped,
he thought, then dismissed the idea. The tree showed extreme
heat had been present. The others had been gone fully twenty
minutes when he left.
A big saloon stood at the timberyard gate when Jim returned,
and he wondered if McMurdo had phoned Sperry, or whether the
active partner of Hammerfield & Sperry had arrived on other
business. Most of the men lodged or lived within a half mile
radius, and were already back. Sperry was thirty-five, looked less,
and stood listening to McMurdo outside the brick-and-board hut
that served as office. Sperry saw Jim and beckoned.
“We’re going to look at your find! ”
Jim realised McMurdo had probably hinted that the delay,
broken saw, and whole affair, was somehow his fault and responsibility, and felt a flash of anger.
“ Didn’t examine the tree much meself, Mr. Sperry,” McMurdo
said as he led them towards the band-saw building and gantry.
“ The kid told me it was clear — ”
“ I showed you the mark ! ”
If McMurdo had heard, he did not indicate it. “ Likely it’s a
bomb,” he stated. “Suppose it had exploded when the saw got
it? ”
He halted expressively, and Sperry gazed at the projectile-like
object. Uneasy, Jim waited, hoping he would at least not be
sacked. Not fair, he thought .... Then surprise substituted
personal concern as his gaze strayed over the egg-shaped discovery.
A circular port wide as his palm stood open, revealing a glimpse
of intricate mechanism.
“Something was in it! ” Jim whispered, shocked.
He saw doubt in Sperry’s clear grey eyes; then saw it change to
understanding. The object was a vessel, and its owner had
emerged . . . Jim’s gaze darted round the timber yard. Piles of
boards stood silent in the hot afternoon sun; some men watched
Sperry, while others were replacing the broken saw. A thousand
hiding-places, Jim thought. And, beyond, open fields, hedges, and,
in the near distance, the long wood, a hundred acres of trees and
undergrowth.
Sperry ran for the office, disappeared, and Jim heard him phoning. Within minutes he was out.
“ I’ve called the police ! Some of you stand guard outside and
we’ll search the yard ! ”
Some took up sticks, and Jim guessed their thoughts. The exit
to the tiny vessel was only as wide as a man’s hand. Jim bit his
lips as they began poking round the piles of timber. Almost like
a rat hunt, he decided bitterly. If you see anything you don’t
understand, kill it ! The men looked uneasy, but strangely enough
he himself felt no fear. He desperately hoped no sudden scuffle
would arise, no abrupt cry of triumph .... There would be a
wild battering of sticks— something beaten flat into the earth and
sawdust.
Two police cars arrived- and officers looked at the tiny vessel.
“ Surround the mill,” someone said. “ A cordon. It can’t have
had time to get away! ”
A wide, tall man with inspector’s chevrons nodded. “ Might be
a good plan to contact the military barracks — they’ll have more
men than we can find! ”
They drifted from earshot. Catch and kill first, Jim thought.
Investigate and ask endless questions after! Every man present
would strike first, because in his secret heart he was afraid. Even
McMurdo, bearing a stick with which he could have snapped a
sheep’s back, looked scared. Jim felt no fear, but could have wept
as he thought of the tiny ship, token of sciences and techniques
unknown to mankind. Afterwards, men would tear into its interior,
learning a little and destroying much.
Within the hour military lorries had brought troops that
deployed at a respectful distance round the yard, straddling road
and fields. Every officer examined the tiny ship on arrival.
Bayonets fixed, soldiers pried among the stacked wood and unsawn
trunks, kicking walls and boards, thumping rifle butts, as if to
startle out a hiding rabbit.
The afternoon passed and Jim heard no quick cry of triumph.
A group of senior officers and technical experts gathered by the
tiny vessel, kneeling to peer in, but touching nothing. One introduced a mirror on a handle and declared it empty. They went
away, returning an hour later with a lorry-load of equipment,
which workmen carried into the yard. Watching, Jim saw that
humanity must inevitably succeed in its policy of destroying what
it feared and did not understand. When all was finished infra-red
rays laced the surroundings of the vessel from every angle. High
explosive, with charge and firing-wires, was buried in a hole scooped
under the ship.
“ Give orders no one is to come within five yards of it ! ” the
officer in command said with satisfaction.
They dispersed, leaving the booby trap set, and the ship invitingly unwatched. Depressed, Jim decided that not even a mouse
could have crept into the open port without blowing the whole
sky high.
Silence descended slowly on the yard. The men went, and the
troops moved back, disappearing behind trees and hedges as the
evening sun sank. In the empty yard the ship waited the return
of its owner.
From his hiding place on top of the gantry Jalit reviewed his
position. Awaking from a sleep so deep as to be almost a suspension of life, he had felt an abrupt rasping upon his ship’s hull.
The vibration had ceased quickly, but was soon replaced by dull,
thudding blows. A glance at the auto-mechanism records showed
he had made planet-fall in a system other than that intended, and
long before the scheduled time for awaking. Over the sub-radio
he engaged in a burble of debate with his fellows. The anticipated
expansion of their sun into a super-nova was still likely. Nowhere
in the Ursa Minor group could be found a suitable planet. Therefore his search must go on. If the world he had reached in error
was habitable, his companions would stream across space in their
thousands of millions, to reach him. The initial auto-mechanism
report on conditions had seemed favourable .... Perhaps so,
Jalit agreed, but first he must investigate in person. He might
find native species requiring elimination, or some difficulty so far
unexpected.
The thudding had ceased. Silence returned, broken by occasional tapping, then a sense of motion. When all had again grown
quiet he had opened the ship . . .
From his position on the gantry Jalit let his circle of awareness
expand. The hot sun that had shone upon his back as upon a
puddle of rainwater was ideal, and had revived him. Almost transparent, faintly blue, and flat as a tiny carpet, he had felt rings of
fear and hate spread and move below, tangible as the great° fish
swimming in the pools of his home world. The three pink dots
whose interaction made up the centre of his awareness had glowed
and weaved in intricate complexity within his transparent envelope,
and for a little while he had been afraid. The fear had slowly
gone, the bright dots subsided into accustomed patterns of thought.
The creatures below the gantry were lowly, mere physical entities
with rudimentary senses.
After a time the number of creatures increased and for long
periods Jalit shut himself off from consciousness of them, and
awareness of their terror and unease. Later, after he had slept, the
swirling current of hate and fear had subsided. The natives had
gone. He lay motionless, pulsating in and out the periphery of
his consciousness. As it wavered and spread, sweeping back and
forth, he saw that many of the natives waited behind remote
clumps and lines of bushes and trees, their attention directed
towards him.
He let his circle of awareness collapse, and crept along to the end
of the gantry, extending over the girder a pseudopod adapted to
ocular investigation. His vessel lay intact, apparently undamaged,
and unguarded. Once inside, he could take it skywards at a
velocity soon reaching many multiples of the speed of light.
He lay still, pink dots oscillating. First to decide if the planet
were suitable for his species. Other travellers had gone to galaxies
unutterably remote, and returned without favourable news. His
duty must come first, personal safety second.
Using the ocular pseudopod, he flowed slowly down a vertical
girder to the earth. The pseudopod revealed the inert physical
world around him, discerning machinery stacked boards, and a
long building in the fading light. Temperature, humidity, air and
soil were ideal, he thought. Judging from the natives’ constructions and machinery, they would offer little useful opposition, as
a species.
The sensation of the living trunks, still unsawn, all about him
brought a great tranquillity into Jalit’s awareness. His companions
would doubtless want the whole planet covered with forest. When
emigration began, the thousands of huge ships would carry seedlings to plant, forerunners of mighty trees which would spring into
five-hundred foot giants within a decade. His fellows would be
enthusiastic about the early sub-radio reports, Jalit thought, and
preparations would have begun.
He rested a while on a felled ash, absorbing the intangible
vibration every tree emitted after solar irradiation. The black
waves of fear and hate in the natives’ minds had gone and the
deserted mill lay silent.
After a time he folded in the ocular pseudopod and let his circle
of direct awareness extend slowly, spreading in concentric rings to
take in the machinery, building, and the vessel that had brought
him so far. As his perceptions washed over it, the transparent
envelope of his body jerked as with physical shock. An impassible
network of radiation hung round the tiny ship — linear rays far
removed from the visible spectrum with which the ocular pseudopod dealt. Panic washed through him. The rays were undoubtedly
a trap . . .
For a long time he lay silent and motionless, then he carefully
searched the vicinity of the ship. The rays issued from devices
hidden among the wood, and fell upon other windowed boxes
concealed by artfully placed boards. He tried to move a small
plank, but could not. His physical strength was almost infinitesimal, the mere interacting of the orbits of atoms forming his being.
If he could not reach the ship, he could never return to his fellows,
he thought regretfully. But they would come to him, eventually.
The sub-radio would broadcast regular analyses of surrounding
conditions. Specialists in remote Ursa Minor would note the
changes of temperature and humidity, translate them into terms
of the rising and setting of a suitable sun. Then, driven by need,
they would sweep across the wilderness of space.
Abruptly he grew aware of a second source of consciousness
fairly near, approaching. He retreated quickly to the gantry, hesitated, and flowed up the nearest girder to the rails above, where he
extended the ocular pseudopod over the concealing metalwork
and waited. The approaching centre of awareness seemed to have
only very little fear, and no hate .... Above all predominated
extreme curiosity and great compassion.
Jim hesitated at the yard gate, looking both ways to see if anyone
remained to observe him. Apparently he was alone. No-one
wished to remain in the yard during darkness, and the cordon was
away at a presumed safe distance.
A thin moon had risen, sometimes hidden behind slow cloud.
Jim halted by the shadowy timber wagon, listening. Back down
the road a picket had halted him, but Jim had expected it.
“ I work at the mill,” he said. “ I left my lunch tin and want it
for tomorrow.”
An officer had come from a vehicle parked behind the hedge.
He nodded curt recognition.
“ I’ve seen him at the yard, sergeant.”
The man let him pass. “If you want to go back, that’s your
business, son.”
His tone implied mild doubt at the sanity of anyone wishing to
go to the mill in darkness, and Jim felt contempt as he hurried on.
A single glance at one tiny ship had scared everyone, except perhaps Mr. Sperry and himself!
He passed the wagon and flashed a torch over the vessel from a
safe distance. The infra-red ray projectors and cells would not be
noticed, unless one were suspicious, he thought. It was fortunate
the vessel’s owner had not tried to return.
He examined the set-up carefully, following the booby-trap wires
and going into the adjoining building, where some of the equipment stood. The safest method was to interrupt the main supply,
he decided. Projectors, relay equipment, and firing mechanism
would all become inoperative together, rendering the trap harmless.
The electrical control equipment for the mill was in a hut near
the office, and it was locked. The door was too stout to be forced,
but an emergency power cable had been brought out under it, and
ran across to the booby-trap equipment.
He went round the hut, shielding his torch with a hand, and
found the window shuttered and fastened. Back at the cable, he
stood in darkness, gnawing a lip in indecision, then returned to the
main building, where tools were frequently left. Someone had
been unusually tidy, there was only a cleaver with wide blade and
very short wooden handle.
He took it back, gingerly lifted the cable, and placed a block
of wood under it. He hesitated a long time before raising the
cleaver to strike. The movement brought his head up. Outlined
by the dim moonlight, high on the gantry, a transparent eye was
regarding him. The sight so astonished, the downward movement
of the cleaver was not halted. His fingers touched the metal he
had tried to avoid, and the blade struck the cable. Something
spat; the cleaver jerked explosively and agony fled through his
body, throwing him backwards, unconscious before he struck
ground.
He awoke with the excruciating shock gone, and a queer feeling
of tension in his legs. Struggling to rise, he saw a faint pencil of
blue light extended from the ship’s port to his feet. It snapped
out, the tension ceased, and he saw he had been dragged well clear
of the severed power cable.
A shape glided out of the port, seeming to flow over the earth,
transparent, and with three vivid pink dots dancing like fireflies
within it. Jim staggered up, glad that the booby trap was off. The
joy seemed to wash from his mind into that of the alien, and return
intensified, and he knew that his purpose in cutting the wire was
understood.
Far away down the road a light shone momentarily in the sky,
followed by the sound of a revving engine. Someone coming to
find why he had not returned, Jim thought.
The alien had halted, standing upright, almost as high as his
knee. A living vortex of sentient awareness, it was waiting, and
Jim gestured at the ship.
“Go! Escape!”
Though his words might not be understood, he sensed that his
thought was. The alien lowered itself and flowed over the ground,
halting at the stern of the ship. A wave of despair and helplessness came from it into Jim’s mind.
He followed, bent down, and shone his torch on the stern. A
chain, stout shining steel, had been looped round the cross joining
the ship’s fins. He followed it quickly, scuffing aside the sawdust.
It passed round the nearest upright girder of the gantry crane, and
was secured by a padlock.
“I didn’t see them fix it! ” Jim felt this was more final than
the booby trap. The ship might pull free, but at what damage to
itself?
“I cannot go,” a voice seemed to whisper in his mind.
Headlights bobbed into view along the road, slowing as the
vehicle approached the mill. No tools to cut the chain, Jim
thought. Nor time to use them if there were. Again erect, the
alien was facing the road, an elongation with a single eye extended
above its head, moving slowly as it observed developments. The
vivid dots within it danced wildly, and Jim felt that is was a peaceful being, unused to violence or personal danger, usually placid,
harming no-one. It had drawn him clear of the cable, perhaps
saved his life. His gaze flickered once again from the tethered
ship to the gantry, and an idea came.
“ Get inside and wait ! ” he cried.
He ran into the mill. The master control switch in the locked
hut was on, to provide current for the booby trap. Therefore the
circuit to the mill distribution equipment would be alive. From
the armoured board switches controlled all the electrical machinery
in the yard. He jerked down the gantry lever and ran back into
the moonlight. The alien was just inside the ship, its eye projecting through the port.
A vehicle halted, and Jim recognised McMurdo’s voice, yelling
for him to come out if he was at the mill. Pull-cords dangled from
the gantry, controlling its traverse and hoist motors. Jim manipulated them so that the crane began to rumble along the rails, its
hoist cable descending. A shout proved the noise was heard. The
hook seemed to fall with painful slowness. Jim dragged at it, got
its point through links of the chain holding the ship, and grabbed
for the cord which would make the powerful motor wind in.
Simultaneously feet pounded round the building and a human
mountain bore him to the ground. The cord fled from his grip,
and the hoist motor stopped.
McMurdo sat on his chest, breathing furiously and pounding
his head until stars flew. Jim tried to dislodge him, and failed.
From the corner of his eye he saw the alien crouched within its
ship, the port half closed, and Sperry appear round the building,
a torch in one hand.
“This will take some explaining! ” McMurdo stated, and hit
his head again.
Jim struggled to get up, or to reach the cord dangling mere feet
away. He landed a glancing blow on McMurdo’s chin. McMurdo
swore, a fist raised, his knees gripping Jim.
“ Hit me, would you ! ”
The fist came down . . . halted. A sudden feeling of power and
determination washed through Jim, and simultaneously McMurdo
winced as if struck from behind.
“ Punch his throat, at the side! ” a voice seemed to order.
Jim punched, something guiding his hand. McMurdo howled,
his head shot back, and Jim heaved him off, straightened, and
seized the hoist control rope.
The motor whirred, powerful gearing that could hoist twenty
tons dead weight whining. The cable and chain grew taut. The
motor seemed to hesitate, the gantry shivered, then with a crack
the loop of chain failed, rattling away simultaneously from finstays and girder. The vessel port began to close its crack, and a
wave of thanks swept out to reach Jim.
An interplay of green and pink light began under the ship, and
it rose vertically, slowly at first, then gaining speed. The nose
began to turn heavenwards, and a glow began at its stern. A
moment later it had gone from sight like a rocket, and the whine
of motion faded.
“ So that’s the idea you had, young Donnels,” a cool voice said.
Jim spun round and found Sperry regarding him quizzically.
Excuses and explanations sped to his lips — then he realised they
were not required. Mr. Sperry had not tried to hinder him as the
gantry hoist had grown taut . . .
Sperry smiled slightly, looking heavenwards. “That’s rather
how I felt about it, lad.” He looked at McMurdo, who sat rubbing
his jaw. “ I’m not sorry to see him taken down a peg, too. He’s
been throwing his weight about too much for a long time.”
His hand closed on Jim’s shoulder, guiding him towards the
road. “ I caught a little of what our visitor thought about it all,
before he left. His gratitude may be worth a lot. Meanwhile,
we’d better agree on a story to tell the police, as it’ll be our word
against McMurdo’s.”
He chuckled.
Jalit set in motion auto-mechanisms which would guide his ship
back to Ursa Minor, and give him the release of unconsciousness
throughout the long journey. Peace-loving, a long time would
pass before his danger, now over, was forgotten. The millions of
his companions would have swarmed over Earth, ousting indigenous life by mere numbers, just as their giant trees would
eventually destroy native vegetation, stifle it below their vast
branches. Within a century any planet occupied by Jalit’s companions would be devoid of all original life forms, animal or
vegetable.
He settled on the sleeping couch, keying the sub-radio to send
back a message across the wilderness of space. I have investigated
in person. An indigenous life-form saved me from distress and
possible death, at danger to itself. We cannot colonise as it is not
our policy to destroy any native species capable of good, but only
those creatures incapable of such acts. Therefore we must seek
elsewhere.
The burbling across light-years of space ceased. The tiny ship
gained momentum, soon travelling at many multiples of the speed
of light. The sol-type sun was lost behind. Jalit slept, his vessel
a hurtling mote between worlds.
George Longdon
pseudonym of
Francis G. Rayer.
This work is Copyright. All rights are reserved. F G Rayer's next of kin: W Rayer and Q Rayer. May not be reprinted, republished, or duplicated elsewhere (including mirroring on the Internet) without consent.