In the north were Abyssinia and the Egyptian Sudan--the great valley of the Nile. To the northwest, the Libyan and Saharan deserts. These were springing into fertile, temperate areas. The governments of Great Britain, France and Spain were locating down there. But I felt I could keep Graff away from this region. Graff would want to move north. I would make him move northeast--up the African coast, over Eastern Abyssinia and get him across the Gulf of Aden, into Arabia, Persia and thence to the sparsely settled, still barren lands of the Central Asian Socialists. "What about your food supplies?" I demanded. "You can't maintain your people very long with what you've brought, can you?" "No," he said. "But I will get food from the country we capture. You must show me where at this season the agriculture is under way. Perhaps, too, you have some large gov'ment storehouse now which I could seize." He listened carefully as I pointed out the route into Socialist mid-Asia. "What we want," I said, "is to frighten the world--bring it to our feet. Not to devastate it completely, with nothing to rule afterward but a chaos. You must be careful, Graff, as future emperor, not to wreck the food supply of your new domain. It's precarious at best now." "I understan'," he said gravely. "You are right in that, Peter. We will bring them to yield--ver' quickly, I hope. Tell me in detail what they will use as weapons against us." He seemed tireless. For another hour or two, I explained as best I could the armament of the great nations. It was all chaotic since the Great Change. Indeed, I was sure of very little I said. Most of the world capitals had moved; all the races and centers of population had shifted. Nations were disintegrating, blending as their people moved in wholesale flight to new areas. In a few years most of the world would be united almost like one big family. There had been no thought, since the Great Change, of maintaining national armaments. The worst possible time to have an invader from another planet attack us! But this latter, I did not explain to Graff. Still another hour. "Graff," I said abruptly. "You never mention the Infra-red Control. What part will it play?" I expected he might frown his displeasure. He did not. He met me with an imperturbable smile. "You are tired, Peter," he said calmly. It was nearly dawn; Zetta had been listening to me silently, but keenly aware of my motives. But she, too, now was tired. She flashed me a warning look when I mentioned the Control. Graff's slow smile continued. "Peter, you go to your cabin. I will work this out." I slept. It must have been noon when I was awakened, not by Graff, but by a Braun I had never seen before. In Graff's cabin my meal was waiting. Zetta was not there. Graff was still poring over my map; I think he had not left it. "Sit down, Peter."