m the house by waving grass and field weeds, men
were moving cautiously about the fields. Near a small hummock, a
loudspeaker rose from its stand, to face the house. A man lay not too
far from the base of the stand. Microphone in hand, he looked intently
through the grass, to study the windows of the house. Then he glanced
back to note the positions of the others.

The camera's viewpoint raised, to take in the entire scene beyond the
field. The sky blurred, then seemed to open, to show Daniel Stern's
long, thin face. He cast his eyes down for a moment, seeming to take in
the details of the scene, then stared straight at the audience, his
deep-set eyes glowing hypnotically.

"Here then," he said slowly, "is one of the properties which Harle
Waern bought while acting as Police Commissioner of Riandar. Here is a
mere sample of the gains he enjoyed for a time as the price of his
defections from his oath of office. And here is the stage he chose for
the final act, his last struggle against the nation he had betrayed."

His face faded from view, the deep-set eyes shining from the sky for a
time after the rest of the face had faded from view.

Then the camera swung again, to show a low-slung weapons carrier which
had pulled up a few dozen meters back of the man with the microphone.
About it, the air shimmered a little, as though a filmy screen lay
between vehicle and camera. It softened the harsh lines of the carrier
and its weapon, lending them an almost mystical appearance.

The crew chief was clearly visible, however. He was making adjustments
on one of the instruments on the projector mount. One of the crew
members stood by on the charge rack, busying himself with adjustments
on the charge activators. None of the crew looked toward the camera.

The loud-speaker clicked and rasped into life.

"Harle Waern, this is the Enforcement Corps. We know you are in there.
You were seen to go into that house with your friends. You have one
minute to throw out your weapons and come out with your hands in the
air. This is your last chance."

There was another click from the loud-speaker. Then the scene was
quiet.

Someone cleared his throat. The man with the microphone shifted his
position and lay stretched out. He had sought cover behind the hummock
near the speaker stand and now he raised his head cautiously, to watch
the silent windows of the house. Other men lay in similar positions,
their attention on the windows, their w