Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net AFTER SOME TOMORROW BY MACK REYNOLDS _Alan's plan might save the race from extinction--but he was the clan's only husband and had to be protected from his own folly...._ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, June 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Before the first shots rang out, Alan had been sitting with some twenty young people of the Wolf clan in a grove of aspen approximately half way between the fields and the citadel on the hill-top. He had been teaching them myth-legend and, as usual, the girls were bored and unbelieving, the boys open mouthed. He realized, even as he spoke, that the telling had changed even since his own youth. As a boy of ten, before it was definitely known whether or not he was a sterilie, he had sat at the feet of the Turtle clan's husband as open mouthed as those who sat at his feet now. But the telling was different. Now, had he spoken openly of when men bore weapons and women lived at home with the children, he would have crossed the boundaries of decency. It hadn't been so in his own youth, but then, when he was a boy, they had been one generation nearer to the old days, which weren't so far back after all. Helen complained, "This is so silly, Alan. Why don't you tell us something about ... well, about hunting, or true fighting?" He looked at her. Could this be a daughter of his? Tall for her fourteen years and straight, clear of eye, aggressive and brooking of no nonsense. The old books told of the femininity of women, but.... The shots went _bang, bang, bang_, from below, faint in the half mile or more of distance. And then _bang, bang_ again and several _booms_ from the new muzzle loading muskets. Helen was on her feet first, her eyes flashing. Instantly she was in command. "Alan," she snapped. "Quick, to the citadel. All of you boys, hurry! To the citadel!" She whirled to her older classmates. "Ruth, Margo, Jenny, Paula. Get stones, sharp stones. You younger girls go with Alan. See if you can help at the citadel. We'll come last. Hurry Alan." Alan was already off, herding the boys before him. Possibly all of them were sterilies and so wouldn't count. But you never knew.