It was like a surrealist painting as he left. The moon had risen, and in all the barrenness there was nothing but the gray cement cube of the building. The light spilling through the open doorway touched the half dozen gaunt men who had followed him out to the car. Ahead was the narrow band of roadway leading through some infinite nothingness that would end in Dell's truck farm. * * * * * He started off. When he looked back a moment later, the building was no longer there. He glanced at the list of names Sark gave him, chilled by the importance of those men. For some there would be death as there had been for Dell. For himself-- He had forgotten to ask. But perhaps they would not have told him. Not at this time, anyway. The chemically treated food produced tumors in refractory, unresponsive cells. He had eaten Dell's vegetables, would eat more. It was too late to ask and it didn't matter. He had important things to do. First would be the writing of his resignation to the officials of Camp Detrick. As of tomorrow, he would be Dr. Curtis Johnson, truck farmer, specialist in atomic-age produce, luscious table gifts for the innocent and not-so-innocent human matches that would, if he and his unknown colleagues succeeded, be prevented from cremating the hopes of Mankind. Louise would help him hang the new sign: YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT Eat the Best EAT JOHNSON'S VEGETABLES Only, of course, she wouldn't know why he had taken Dell's job, nor could he ever explain. It would probably be the death of Curt Johnson, but that was cheap enough if humanity survived. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Stone and a Spear, by Raymond F. Jones