Damn Harwood, I thought, as I stood at my window and watched the fruitless attempts to drive away the Invaders. All the time, I knew, that damnable vortex was still open, and more and more of them were pouring through every second. It was funny, in a way, that the world should end this way. It _was_ the end of the world, of course; we had no defense against them, and they burned and killed unstoppably. The streets were blockaded; we could go nowhere, see no one. Communication was impossible; telephones were no longer working, ever since the Invaders had discovered what a juicy supply of radiation the coaxial cables provided. We were walled up with ourselves, waiting for the end. As I paced my room impatiently, I thought of Laura, there with her father--her father who had, unwittingly or otherwise, brought this destruction into the world. Then I looked around at my equipment, my partially-designed force-field generators. An idea struck me. We were completely defenseless against the Invaders now. But maybe, if-- I worked through the night and on into the morning, soldering and reconnecting. I had only the barest shred of a plan, and that a mostly wishful one, but I had nothing else at all to do but work. Finally morning came. Again there was the booming of guns from outside, as the army continued its attempts to drive out the Invaders. I glanced out the window and saw three of the translucent globes hovering over the charred body of a man in military uniform, and shuddered. I went back to my generator, and worked until hunger reminded me that there was no food left in the house. This was the end, then. I was nowhere near the solution of my problem, and I knew I wouldn't be able to work for long without food. I glanced outside again. The air was thick with the things; I didn't dare risk a break. So I turned back to my generator and forced myself to keep working. I did. I worked far on into the afternoon, getting more and more tired--until, sometime near nightfall, I fell asleep. I slept. Suddenly, I was awakened by the simultaneous touch of a hand on my shoulder and clap of thunder outside. I looked up. "Laura! What are you doing here?" "I had to get away," she said. She was soaked to the skin, cold and shivering. She was wearing only a flimsy housecoat over some sort of pajamas. "Daddy wasn't looking, and I ran out of the house. I ran all the way." "But how'd you get past the--the--?" "The Invaders?" She pointed outside. "There's a storm going on. They're all in the sky, drinking up the lightning again. They didn't bother me at all on the way over. Much better food available, I guess." She shivered again. "Look, you've got to get out of that wet stuff," I told her. I threw her a towel and my bathrobe. "Here, get into this, and then we can talk." "Okay."