ohol. I would say that under the circumstances, since you're supposed
to be protecting _me_, we should keep _you_ as well defended as
possible."

"M'm?"

"You do drink, don't you?" I asked.

"Like a fish," Maxwell said, lunging to his feet.

* * * * *

When we were back in the room, Maxwell said: "Hell, I don't see that
telenoshis is such a damn menash to society, if all you have to do is
get drunk."

"You want a nation of alcoholics?" I said. I sat down on the bed and
untied my shoes. "Anyway, whasha difference? D. T. horrors or 'noshis
horrors? Whash worse?"

Maxwell grunted.

We both had to sleep in the same bed, and Maxwell was a restless
sleeper. I had finally crept into the lower depths of slumber, where it
was warm and snug, when he poked me sharply in the ribs.

"What's that?" he demanded. He was sitting up.

"What's what?"

"Listen!"

I heard it. _Click-click-click...._

"What time is it?" I asked. My eyes were still closed, and I was damned
if I was going to open them.

"Three fifty-seven. But what is--"

"Defense mech," I said. "Right on time. Every twelve hours. Tries to get
me. Now go sleep."

I rolled over and shut my eyes even tighter--but I couldn't get all the
way back to sleep. Not back down to the warm, dark depths. It was a long
time before Maxwell even lay back down, and he rolled and twisted for
the rest of the night. At six o'clock, he fell into a deep, quiet
slumber, and I was wide awake, damn him. So I got up and dressed.

I found a news magazine I hadn't read, and occupied myself with it for
an hour. Practically the entire issue was devoted to an analysis of the
Martian immigration.

It went way back into history and discussed the folklore fear that
humans had for centuries about a Martian invasion. And it pointed out
that something very like a Martian invasion was taking place right now.
One particular article concluded with what I considered an unnecessarily
grim warning that unless something were done soon to check the flow of
immigrants, Earth would soon be overrun with Martians.

Other articles in the magazine went into the causes and implications of
the migration. One of the writers pointed out that Mars is a dying
planet. In only a few thousand years, it will be too cold, too dry and
too airless to support life.

The development of interplanetary travel a century earlier had provided
the inhabitants with a means of escape. They c