nsmitted apparatus
either went out or began reporting erratically. The left hand screen,
connected by wiring to the pickup on the roof, was still functioning.
For a moment, Richardson wondered what was going on, and then shocked
recognition drove that from his mind as he stared at the
ever-brightening glare in the sky.

It was the Auburn Bomb again! He was back, in memory, to the night on
the shore of Lake Ontario; the party breaking up in the early hours of
morning; he and Janet and the people with whom they had been spending a
vacation week standing on the lawn as the guests were getting into their
cars. And then the sudden light in the sky. The cries of surprise, and
then of alarm as it seemed to be rushing straight down upon them. He and
Janet, clutching each other and staring up in terror at the falling
blaze from which there seemed no escape. Then relief, as it curved away
from them and fell to the south. And then the explosion, lighting the
whole southern sky.

There was a similar explosion in the screen, when the mass of nega-iron
landed--a sheet of pure white light, so bright and so quick as to almost
pass above the limit of visibility, and then a moment's darkness that
was in his stunned eyes more than in the screen, and then the rising
glow of updrawn incandescent dust.

Before the sound-waves had reached them, he had been legging it into the
house. The television had been on, and it had been acting as insanely as
the screen on his right now. He had called the State Police--the
telephones had been working all right--and told them who he was, and
they had told him to stay put and they'd send a car for him. They did,
within minutes. Janet and his host and hostess had waited with him on
the lawn until it came, and after he had gotten into it, he had turned
around and looked back through the rear window, and seen Janet standing
under the front light, holding the little dog in her arms, flopping one
of its silly little paws up and down with her hand to wave goodbye to
him.

He had seen her and the dog like that every day of his life for the last
fifteen years.

"What kind of radiation are you getting?" he could hear Alexis Pitov
asking into a phone. "What? Nothing else? Oh; yes, of course. But mostly
cosmic. That shouldn't last long." He turned from the phone. "A devil's
own dose of cosmic, and some gamma. It was the cosmic radiation that put
the radios and telescreens out. That's why I insisted that the dro