Cliff pressed a lever, and slowly the ponderous top began to revolve upon its axis. Faster, faster, till it was nothing but a blur. Faster yet, until only its outlines were visible. Cliff pressed a lever on the other side. Nothing happened apparently, except for a cloudy appearance of the air at the open end of the laboratory. Cliff touched a foot lever. The top began to grow visible, its rotations could be seen; it ran slower, began to come to a stop. The cloud was gone. Where the airplanes and other junk had been, was nothing but a heap of grayish dust. It was this that had made the cloud. Nothing remained, except that impalpable powder against the background of the trees. Kay caught Cliff's arm. "Look out!" he shouted, pointing to the heap. "Something's moving in there!" Something was. A very angry lady porcupine was scrambling out, a _quillless_ porcupine, with a white skin, looking like nothing so much as a large, hairless rat. Cliff turned to Kay. "We've failed," he said briefly. "Too late for this year now." "But--the quills?" "Inorganic material. But even the bones remain intact because there's circulation in the marrow, you see. And the Earth Giants haven't even bones. They're safe--this year!" He flung himself down under a tree, staring up at the sky in abject despair. * * * * * "Look, Kay, I've got my number!" Ruth Meade smiled as she handed Kay the ticket issued by the Government announcing the lottery number provided for each citizen. One hundred thousand young people between the ages of fifteen and twenty would be drawn for the sacrifice, and Ruth, being nineteen, had come within the limits, but this would be her last year. In a few weeks the Government would announce the numbers--drawn by a second lottery--of those who were condemned. Then, before these had been made public, the victims would already have been seized and hurried to the airship depots in a hundred places, for conveyance to the hideous Golgotha of the pampas. The chance that any individual would be among the fated ones was reasonably small. It was the fashion to make a jest of the whole business. Ruth smiled as she showed her ticket. Kay stared at it. "Ruth, if--if anything happened to you I'd go insane. I'd--" "Why this sudden ardor, Kay?" * * * * * Kay took Ruth's small hand in his. "Ruth, you mustn't play with me any more. You know I love you. And the sight of that thing makes me almost insane. You do care, don't you?" And, as Ruth remained silent, "Ruth, it isn't Cliff Hymes, is it? I know you two are old friends. I'd rather it were Cliff than anybody else, if it had to be some one, but--tell me, Ruth!" "It isn't Cliff," said Ruth slowly. "Is it--some one else?" "It's you, dear," answered Ruth. "It's always been you. It might have been Cliff if you hadn't come along. But he knows now it can never be he." "Does he know it's me?" asked Kay, greatly relieved.