Dayton had forgotten all the others. David Lombardy was his nemesis and he must catch him. He raced across the dry baked ground after the little boy, red with frustration and exertion. At last he had clutched the little shoulder, and without rational thought, had shaken the boy, his eyes clouded with rage, biting back the words that threatened to pour out. Damn them! Damn this boy, in particular! When did he discover ... how will we ever keep them under control? They're so young, such kids, to have so much power over us. We might have known this would happen! Then David Lombardy had looked up at the anger-ridden features of his teacher. "Bubble-head!" he laughed, pointing to the globe which held Dayton's air. "Bubble-head!" The other children had picked up the cruel name immediately. Like all seven-year-olds, they had little sense of kindness in them. They were just young animals. But they _knew_, then, that they had an advantage. They knew they could breathe where Dayton and the others never could, and never would. By punishment, the scientists had managed to repress the name of "Bubble-head." It had never been uttered outright since that day. But, always, Dayton felt that the growing children remembered, and remembered clearly. Was it since _that_ day? Or was it since the day when, at age thirteen, David Lombardy had walked up to him and said: "We look different. We talk different. You wanted us to be different, didn't you?" "Yes, David, that's true." Even then, Dayton had felt a tremor of something half-expected, half-feared. "Why?" "Well, then, you can't expect us to have the same names as all of you. We want our _own_ names, different from any others." * * * * * Dayton paused, gazing out at the boy's earnest face. At thirteen, he seemed to recall from some psychology book, all children liked to live in a make-believe world. Here was a make-believe world come true for David Lombardy and his mates. Why not let them change their names? Would it hurt? "Very well Da--what is your name now?" The boy's mouth had curved in a knowing smile. "Bar. That's my name. You call me Bar ... Professor." The last word came almost as an after-thought. Then, Bar had turned and walked out, still smiling secretly. Yes, I knew then, Dayton thought. I knew that day that no matter how much they grew up, they would never change their names back again. Yet, they must be taught only so much at a time. He could not be impatient; he must not ask Da--_Bar_ point-blank. And since then, every day he had waited for this day, for what he knew must happen, and what must not happen. "All right, Bar, what is it you want?" he said aloud. A bare minute had passed since the cheer had gone up, had shivered in the cool air, and had died quietly in the corners of the large room.