e
playing games on the grass, while the adults lounged in front of their
dwellings or enjoyed community singing and dancing to the pulsing rhythm of
their music. The sound of gaiety suddenly died as Lord walked between the
rows of houses.

Strange, he thought; they seemed to guess what was in his mind. Niaga ran
from the quiet crowd and took his hand.

"No, Martin Lord; you must not interfere!"

"Where's Howard?"

"He is a free man; he has a right to choose--"

"I'm going to take him back." He drew one of his guns. She looked at him
steadily, without fear, and she said,

"We made you welcome; we have given you our friendship, and now you--"

He pushed her aside brutally because her gentleness, her lack of anger,
tightened the constriction of his own sense of guilt. Lord fired his weapon
at the trunk of a tree. The wood flamed red for a moment and the sound of
the explosion rocked the air, powdering the grass with black ash.

"This is the kind of power controlled by men," he said. His voice was
harsh, shrill with shame and disgust for the role he had to play. "I shall
use this weapon to destroy your homes--each of them, one by one--unless you
surrender Don Howard to me."

As he turned the pistol slowly toward the closest yellow wall, Niaga
whispered, "Violence is a violation of the law of humanity. We offered Don
Howard sanctuary and peace--as we offer it to all of you. Stay with us,
Martin Lord; make your home here."

He clenched his jaw. "I want Don and I want him now!"

"But why must you go back? Your world is powerful; your world is enormous
with cities and machines. But what does it hold for you as a man, Martin
Lord? Here we give you the dreams of your own soul, peace and beauty,
laughter and dignity."

"Surrender, Don!" Although he was vaguely aware of it, he had no time to
consider consciously the strangely sophisticated wording of her argument.
When she continued to talk in the same gentle voice, the temptation
caressed his mind like a narcotic; against his will, the tension began to
wash from his muscles. Driven by a kind of madness to escape the sound of
her voice, he pulled the trigger. The yellow wall exploded. Concussion
throbbed in his ears, deafening him--but he still heard her whisper in
the depths of his soul, like the music of a forest stream.

* * * * *

Then, at the end of the village street, he saw Don Howard coming out of
one of the houses with his ha