hite. Two years, now, and he would
be eighty--had he been anyone but The Guide, he would have long ago
retired to the absolute peace and repose of one of the Elders' Havens.
Peace and repose, however, were not for The Guide; it would take another
twenty years to finish his task of remaking the world, and he would need
every day of it that his medical staff could borrow or steal for him. He
made an eye-baffling practice draw with the stun-pistol, then holstered
it and started down the spiral stairway to the office below.

There was the usual mass of papers on his desk. A corps of secretaries
had screened out everything but what required his own personal and
immediate attention, but the business of guiding a world could only be
reduced to a certain point. On top was the digest of the world's news
for the past twenty-four hours, and below that was the agenda for the
afternoon's meeting of the Council. He laid both in front of him,
reading over the former and occasionally making a note on the latter.
Once his glance strayed to the cardboard box in front of him, with the
envelope taped to it--the latest improvement on the Evri-Flave syrup,
with the report from his own chemists, all conditioned to obedience,
loyalty and secrecy. If they thought he was going to try that damned
stuff on himself....

There was a sudden gleam of light in the middle of the room, in front of
his desk. No, a mist, through which a blue light seemed to shine. The
stun-pistol was in his hand--his instinctive reaction to anything
unusual--and pointed into the shining mist when it vanished and a man
appeared in front of him; a man in the baggy green combat-uniform that
he himself had worn fifty years before; a man with a heavy automatic
pistol in his hand. The gun was pointed directly at him.

* * * * *

The Guide aimed quickly and pressed the trigger of the ultrasonic
stunner. The pistol dropped soundlessly on the thick-piled rug; the man
in uniform slumped in an inert heap. The Guide sprang to his feet and
rounded the desk, crossing to and bending over the intruder. Why, this
was the dream that had plagued him through the years. But it was ending
differently. The young man--his face was startlingly familiar,
somehow--was not killing the old man. Those years of practice with the
stun-pistol....

He stooped and picked the automatic up. The young man was unconscious,
and The Guide had his pistol, now. He slipped the aut