ars. Fear would unite men against a possible
invasion, and fear would force men to reach for the stars to forestall
retribution.

Matson grinned thinly. Human nature couldn't have changed much these
past years. Even with master psychologists like the Aztlans operating
upon it, changes in emotional pattern would require generations. He
sighed, looked into the anxious face of Seth Winters, and returned to
the reality of the desert night. His course was set. He knew what he
had to do.

* * * * *

He laid the rifle across his knees and opened the little leather box
sewn to the side of the guncase. With precise, careful movements he
removed the silencer and fitted it to the threaded muzzle of the gun.
The bulky, blue excrescence changed the rifle from a thing of beauty
to one of murder. He looked at it distastefully, then shrugged and
stretched out on the mattress, easing the ugly muzzle through the hole
in the brickwork. It wouldn't be long now....

He glanced upward through the window above him at the Weather Bureau
instruments atop a nearby building. The metal cups of the anemometer
hung motionless against the metallic blue of the sky. No wind stirred
in the deep canyons of the city streets as the sun climbed in blazing
splendor above the towering buildings. He moved a trifle, shifting the
muzzle of the gun until it bore upon the sidewalks. The telescopic
sight picked out faces from the waiting crowd with a crystal clarity.
Everywhere was the same sheeplike placidity. He shuddered, the sights
jumping crazily from one face to another,--wondering if he had
misjudged his race, if he had really come too late, if he had
underestimated the powers of the Aztlans.

Far down the avenue, an excited hum came to his ears, and the watching
crowd stirred. Faces lighted and Matson sighed. He was not wrong.
Emotion was only suppressed, not vanished. There was still time!

The aliens were coming. Coming to cap the climax of their pioneer
work, to drive the first nail in humanity's coffin! For the first time
in history man's dream of the brotherhood of man was close to reality.

And he was about to destroy it! The irony bit into Matson's soul, and
for a moment he hesitated, feeling the wave of tolerance and good will
rising from the street below. Did he have the right to destroy man's
dream? Did he dare tamper with the will of the world? Had he the right
to play God?

The parade came slowly down the