become World City, they erected a
small home for Fred Benson. Benson was often invited to address the
delegates to the UN; always, there was soft piped-in music behind his
words. He saw to it that Evri-Flave was available free to all UN
personnel. The Senate of the United States elected him as perpetual
U. S. delegate-in-chief to the UN; not long after, the Security Council
elected him their perpetual chairman.

In keeping with his new dignities, and to ameliorate his youthful
appearance, he grew a mustache and, eventually, a small beard. The black
notebook in which he kept the records of his experiments was always with
him; page after page was filled with notes. Experiments in sonics, like
the one which had produced the ultrasonic stun-gun which rendered lethal
weapons unnecessary for police and defense purposes, or the new musical
combinations with which he was able to play upon every emotion and
instinct.

But he still dreamed, the same recurring dream of the young soldier and
the old man in the office. By now, he was consistently identifying
himself with the latter. He took to carrying one of the thick-barrelled
stun-pistols always, now. Alone, he practiced constantly with it,
drawing, breaking soap-bubbles with the concentrated sound-waves it
projected. It was silly, perhaps, but it helped him in his dreams. Now,
the old man with whom he identified himself would draw a stun-pistol,
occasionally, to defend himself.

The years drained one by one through the hour-glass of Time. Year after
year, the world grew more peaceful, more beautiful. There were no more
incidents like the mass-suicide of Munich or the mass-perversions of New
Orleans; the playing and even the composing of music was strictly
controlled--no dangerous notes or chords could be played in a world
drenched with Ingredient Beta. Steadily the idea grew that peace and
beauty were supremely good, that violence and ugliness were supremely
evil. Even competitive sports which simulated violence; even children
born ugly and misshapen....

* * * * *

He finished the breakfast which he had prepared for himself--he trusted
no food that another had touched--and knotted the vivid blue scarf about
his neck before slipping into the loose coat of glossy plum-brown, then
checked the stun-pistol and pocketed the black notebook, its
plastileather cover glossy from long use. He stood in front of the
mirror, brushing his beard, now snow-w