Masters said, solemnly.

"Yes, but life isn't everything. Any man, no matter how yellow or
mean he is, has some ideal he's willing to die for--or at least
he's willing to risk dying to attain. Look at Norden. He's hard,
cold-blooded and he doesn't think twice about putting a bomb in a
plant to wipe out scores of lives. He dared me to kill him,
rather than help us. His code as a spy is his primary objective.
Look at Pember. He must have been frightened by the spheres, but
we had to force him to leave his post. We've shown him that his
duty now is with us--he realizes that the spheres are the
immediate enemy of his country and he'll do his best fighting
them. And you and I have ideals--we know each other too well to
list them."

"I getcha so far, but what about Orkins?"

"The man's not afraid of death, but afraid of the unknown. Men
like him commit suicide rather than face reality. He wants
security. He's afraid of uncertainty. He lives in an unreal,
imaginary world and when uncertainty, which is reality, intrudes,
he is completely lost."

"You make me feel sorry for the poor devil."

"That's because you understand why he's funky. Primary objectives
make men do what they do--but understanding Orkins doesn't solve
our problem."

"No. What are the spheres? Are they alive? If so, they must want
something. What do they want?"

"A conquest of the human race?" Taylor pondered. "Maybe. But it
isn't likely. They can't gain much by conquering us. It wouldn't
do man any good to stage a conquest of earthworms and swordfish,
since neither could pay taxes. The spheres are as different from
man as man from an angle-worm. Are we a menace to the spheres?
Apparently the only time we really menace them is when we crawl
into a hole like a rabbit--maybe there's something in that that
will help us, but I don't think that's why they kill us. Are we a
nuisance? If so, why? Are we a food? There is energy in sunlight
and chemicals in the human body. A creature of energy would feed
on something like sunlight, not chemicals. His menu would be
electric wires, storage batteries--"

"Great Scott, Captain!" Masters interrupted. "Let's get away from
this car. There's a battery in it--food for the spheres!"

Masters looked nervously up at the circling globes. Taylor, deep
in thought, did not stir. Instead, he continued his speculation:

"Maybe they kill us for sport."

He was thinking of small boys torturing frogs; of Roman emperors
at