The silver ship took off with hardly a sound from the dim sands of Mars. In three minutes, it was a tiny star, flickering in the skies with billions of other winking pin-points of light. And down below, the new, self-appointed citizens of Mars danced around the still glowing ashes of their history.... * * * * * Dayton got the inter-space call five years later. He knew what it was. He had awaited it with the same patience and silence with which he had awaited Bar's speech on Mars. It was Bar, of course, and his voice, though loud, had lost its fiery timbre. "Professor--" he began. "Never mind, I know," Dayton said quietly. "You bred, didn't you? And you found out what I could have told you, had you not been so young, so impatient. It was suicide to destroy those domes. Oh, Bar, what a pity! To delude yourselves into thinking that we, mere scientists, mere men, could create a brand-new race! Bar, we merely trained you and adapted you to your environment." "We know that now." "Your wives gave birth. But the babies--were white and weak and thin-chested. They were Earth babies, just as you are really made-over Earthmen. And the babies choked. And they died." It was a whisper. "Yes. They died." The professor almost smiled. "And, _now_, Bar?" "We are still children. We need our mother. Will you forgive us and come back?" Bar said humbly. Now Dayton smiled openly. "Leave the creating of races to God, Bar. Yes, we'll come back. A mother always goes back to care for her wayward children." He cut off, then, and eagerly began punching buttons which would summon them all back. Back to teach another generation of Martians!