Dollard gripped his hands together and glanced nervously about the timbered walls of his High Sierra lodge, as if to assure himself that this carefully guarded retreat would protect him from the grisly crawling death that was demolishing his invincible country. Even in the presence of his most trusted hireling, Garth, who had been executive officer of Dollard's vast combine, the millionaire was ashamed to admit how the report from Colorado--which claimed the enemy-seeded plague had already crossed the broad prairie states--had been enough to send him into a cowering state of panic. And now, even after assurance that he could soon take off in his private vessel, bound for bacteria-free space and the antiseptic sanctuary of Venus, he was still suffering a paroxysm of fear so great that not even a double slug of his costly hoarded alcohol could banish it completely. * * * * * Outside, hired thugs, outfitted with hydroflame rifles, patrolled the two roads entering the narrow valley--armed with orders to shoot to kill all unauthorized intruders. Already, the guards' task was proving more difficult as refugees from the Los Angeles area poured into the mountains by way of Bishop and Highway 395. Ragged foodless marauders, they swarmed through the resort villages in vicious bands, plundering and murdering in futile efforts to stave off starvation and death. Dollard got up from his position before the teleset, squinting sidewise at Garth while he poured himself three fingers of additional courage. "You're not sorry at leaving your wife?" he inquired. "Ellen meant a lot to you, didn't she, Garth?" Garth shrugged. "She's safe enough where she is. That's all that matters." Dollard poked him in the ribs. "All that matters ... is survival. You know that, Garth." He chuckled. "Why bother to save anybody else?" "That's right, sir," said Garth. The muscles of his face continued to compress his features into an unbending mask. "And one thing's certain, there's no hope for humanity. Not on this planet, at any rate--or not for a long while, I'm positive. You know what they're saying now?" "No." "The bigdomes are asserting that only a complete mutation among the unborn can save the higher forms of organic life. Get this, Garth. They say that all the vertebrates, and particularly all mammals, will have to develop new germ-resistant species--or the plague will eventually kill off even the strongest. What's more, those damned Asiatics are in the same boat with us, _at last_." Garth mulled over the news. He said, "Then, any survivors on earth will have to mutate into something other than mankind?"