"Then why did you laugh?"

"Because there was nothing else I could do. What do you expect from me, Cargill? You come here and murder the woman I thought I loved-even if I can't remember why I thought I loved her-and then you tell me, when her body's still warm, that she's not even a woman: she's some kind of foul monster bent upon conquering and subjugating not only my people but the whole human race too. I said, what do you expect? Do you want me to cry?"

"I thought you might want to help fight them."

"No."

"But we need your help. That's why I came here. To ask you to please-"

"No," Alec repeated, unhesitantly.

"But you haven't heard my proposition." The control Cargill had always exercised over his feelings was completely gone now. Alec received a barrage of brutal, conflicting radiations-but fear was there, and anger too. Cargill crossed the room and laid a hand on Alec's shoulder. "We can't just give up, can we?"

"I don't care what you do." Alec pushed him away. "Just get away from me."

"But-don't you understand?-I had to kill her."

"No, I don't understand." But that was not true. Alec understood. But understanding was not the same as acceptance, and he did not accept. He stood up and moved away into the room, as if seeking some place of hidden refuge.

Cargill followed him. "Are you willing to let the whole world fall to pieces because of your own temporary whims? You know I'm right. Listen to my plan. I admit we can't stop the war-it's too late for that-but we can ensure that the human race will exist afterward. I know these creatures, Alec, these things, and they are as alien to you and me as if they had originated from beyond the Earth itself. Visit my office. Let me show you my files. Ford himself-you wouldn't believe what he has done. Do you remember the Mozambique extinction ten years ago?"

"I don't care," Alec said, uttering each word separately. The Mozambique extinction, the fate of the human race-he did not care. Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia, he thought, seeing her body again. No, no, no. He had to get out of here and think.

"And Anna?" Cargill was saying. "What about her? Ford is her father. She is with him right now. Don't you understand-?"

"Why should I?"

"She's your wife."

"I told you, Cargill-I don't care."

But Cargill continued to chase Alec like a hungry dog in pursuit of a rabbit. "At least listen to my proposition. It's Ah Tran. He can-"

Alec had heard enough. He whirled, facing Cargill eye-to-eye. "If you aren't out of this office," he said, "in twenty seconds, I swear I'll kill you. I'll take that gun out of your coat and ram it straight down your throat. Now-please-go. Just leave me alone."

Cargill started to speak, then simply shook his head. Alec sensed his surrender. He said, "All right."

"Good."

"But I want you to take this." Eagerly, he pressed a thick plastic card into Alec's hand. "It has my home number. If you change your mind, call me there. It may not be too late."

"There's nothing I can do." But Alec accepted the card.

"You won't know that till you've heard me out."

"I'm ready to die."

"And take five billion people with you?" Cargill did not wait for Alec to reply. He went to the door, unlocked it, then stepped out. As he did, for the first time, he permitted Alec a clear view of the inside of his mind. Alec staggered back, grasping his head. Then Cargill moved into the corridor and slammed the door behind him.

He was gone.

"Damn you," Alec said. His head was aching. He went over to the couch and started to sit but then remembered what the back room still contained.

He couldn't stay here. No.

He would go home. That was the place to be now. Home. Alone. He would go there and wait.

For the end, he thought. I'm going to go home and wait for the end. The thought amused him. He laughed out loud.

Throwing open the door, he stepped outside.

Nineteen.

Karlton Ford had had constructed, upon the roof of his Wyoming ranchhouse, a wide sun porch in the shape of a circle. When activated, a silent mechanism drove the porch in a clockwise direction; it made one complete revolution every quarter hour. Ford loved the sun. Normally, he could lie underneath it all day long and never get burned. Right now, he lay on his back near the edge of the porch. He didn't feel the blistering heat. The porch moved, but Ford was unaware of the motion. Nearby, his daughter, Anna Richmond, lay on her back, one leg bent, a hand laid across her forehead to act as a shield to protect her eyes against the fierce solar glare. She wasn't moving a muscle. During the last few days, Ford had been forced to exercise increasingly greater control over Anna. But she was free of any constraints this moment.

Ford found it difficult to ignore the danger presented by her and concentrate upon the task at hand. He was trying to complete a full communicative link with an Inheritor named Hopkins, who lived in San Francisco. Telepathy- especially over any considerable distance-was a chancy means of contact, but since it avoided any possibility of government interception, the Inheritors always tried to resort to it when immediate communication was a necessity. After establishing the initial link-Hopkins had already done that-the next step was to create the basic mood of the communication. Since Hopkins had called, he was the one doing all the transmitting, but receiving was an even more difficult process. That was why Ford had had no choice but to set Anna free. To do this right, it was nearly necessary to shut off the exterior world entirely. The basic mood Hopkins seemed to be trying to get across was one of extreme anxiety, but Ford was unable to pick up the next aspect. He vaguely saw the outline of a face-a young man?-but he could achieve no more certain identification. He strained and strained, trying to see the face more clearly. He could sense nothing beyond himself now. The face grew more clear. Suddenly, all its features seemed to coalesce into a legible whole. Yes, he thought. He laughed at himself. Of course he knew that face-it was Anna's husband-it was Alec Richmond.

Proceed, he signalled Hopkins, indicating success.

While waiting for the next signal to arrive, he opened his eyes hastily and glanced over at Anna. She still hadn't moved. A good sign. He peered into her mind. Not so good. She seemed confused. Her brain darted frantically from thought to thought, subject to subject. There was neither order nor design to her method. An anarchy of thought. Ford did not like that.

Anna knew much, too much. That was the central difficulty. It might not matter any more-the entire thing might be over in a few weeks-but until then Anna presented an awesome danger. If Anna had been anyone else, Ford would have killed her without hesitation. But she was his daughter and he did not want to kill her. A strange defect, he admitted. An almost human queasiness.

Ah-but here was Hopkins. Another message. Ford turned from Anna to concentrate. An android. Not unexpectedly. An android armed with a rifle. Stepping across a scarred battlefield. The android dropped to a knee. Fired. A moment later, it fell face down in the mud. A shell whizzed past, exploding safely behind. The android stood again and marched ahead. But the rifle had been left behind.

The vision faded. Proceed, Ford thought, but he was puzzled. What was the point? The failure of the most recent androids to function properly was well known to the Inheritors. It was part of their scheme. The result of this failure would be to even the conflict, to cause a grand stalemate which, in turn, would tempt both sides into building and using nuclear and chemical weapons. And that, of course, was the whole idea.

Anna moved.

Ford instantly snapped the contact with Hopkins and spun around. He turned just in time to see Anna scamper to her feet. Turning desperately, she suddenly found the right direction and rushed toward the edge of the rotating circle. Ford started after her, quickly probing her mind. What he found shocked him. Anna reached the edge of the circle and leaped off to the roof. She tottered momentarily, then caught her balance and ran on toward the edge of the roof. Ford was only a few feet behind. He reached out, stretching his fingers, but could not hold her. He stopped. He used his mind. He caught her at the edge of the roof and clamped down viciously. She stopped with one foot raised in the air. She stood as motionless as any statue. Ford did not lessen his hold. Anna screamed. He tightened his grasp. She collapsed, falling straight down, one arm dangling over the edge of the roof.

Ford let go.

He hurried the remaining distance that separated them and crouched at her side. He held her wrist in his hand. A pulse. Faint. But she was alive. He pried open an eyelid and peered at the white of her eye. He wouldn't enter her mind. She was unconscious but it was a foul mess in there. He touched her forehead. Sizzling hot.

Ford stood up. Suicide, he thought, with disgust. No conceivable act seemed more foul to him-so morbidly human. Animals did not kill themselves-neither should supermen. Suicide was an act reserved for those animals granted-or cursed by-a dim flickering of intelligence. Ford glared down at Anna. He could easily kill her now. Any love or loyalty he might have felt for her was gone now. One gentle shove with his foot and she would be gone, toppling gracefully down to the hard earth below. She wanted to die; let her.

He shrugged off his disgust and turned away. He lay down upon the rotating wooden wheel and shut his eyes. Hopkins returned. He didn't intend to bother with Anna any more. If she woke up while the contact was on and jumped, he wouldn't do a thing to stop her. He wouldn't even say goodbye.

Hopkins's next vision was clear. It was a picture of himself, stark naked, without his usual uniform. Ford comprehended the vision immediately. Hopkins had been stripped of his command over the android project.

Ford signaled, Proceed.

The next vision was a fantasy-a possibility. It came in bright, deliberately unnatural colors. Richmond again. In an office-his office. Sitting at a high desk, papers piled in front of him. The vision zoomed close for a near view of the papers. They were designs-drawings-android soldiers. One had its arm raised, finger outstretched. Fire bursting from the hand. The vision immediately faded. In its place came a single word, blazing like neon light: DANGER.

Ford signaled back: Situation comprehended-action to be taken-confirmation in one hour.

Richmond had to be stopped. Ford asked himself: How?