They were silent as Brooks turned the jeep and nosed it over the broken country toward the village. Silent, but each occupied with his own grim thoughts; thoughts concerning things the nation had not been told; that the flying saucer joke was no longer that but a very serious matter. Certain facts had come to light and had been discussed in high-level conference and they added up to good reason for panic. Creatures from outer space _were_ hovering over the planet. They were hostile and they wanted to take Earth over. All the revelations were not catastrophic however if considered comparatively. Fortunately, the aliens, while advanced and of superior intelligence, had physical characteristics that set them apart. They could not put down and lose themselves among the planet's population. Also, they did not appear able to overwhelm with superior weapons. Still, they were vicious, crafty, and their coming could mean the end of Terran freedom. Brooks rolled the jeep past a tilted sign reading, '_Mesa Flats--Pop. 21_'. The lettering, very old, was almost obliterated. Another ancient sign hanging over one of the false fronts said, _Elkhorn Hotel_. Brooks pulled up and the two Security men climbed out. Two ancient desert specimens sat in tilted-back chairs on the porch. One of them stirred enough ambition to turn his head. The other went on chewing tobacco and stared out across the desert. Inside an equally leather-faced oldster presided behind the desk. He said, "Howdy, men," and extended a battered pencil across the register. Tom Brazier signed. Frank Brooks looked about, trying to find something wrong. Failing in this he tried to conjure up the uneasy feeling that something might be wrong. He failed again. He said, "How long have you been running this place, Pop?" "Nigh onto ten years now. And the name's Frank Sibley, son. Never did get me a wife so o'course I ain't nobody's pop." Frank Brooks grinned but as there was no rancor in the oldster's tone he didn't apologize. "How is the food in the restaurant?" Tom Brazier asked. "Fair to middlin'. _Frijoles_ and beans. Ain't nobody can spoil _frijoles_ and beans." "That's what you think," Brooks said. "Stayin' long?" "A couple of days, maybe," Brazier told him. "Thought we might scout the hills. If the area looks right we might bring in some small uranium equipment." "Good luck. Your room's to the head of the stairs--second door on the right." "Thanks." They went out and moved slowly down the street. There were people but they seemed used to strangers. There were desert-worn women, sun blackened children, leather-faced men. The two Security men had been silent. Now Frank Brooks spoke suddenly. "If you're thinking about Quislings or traitors, Tom, it just doesn't make sense. These people aren't intelligent enough. An invader would go where--" "I'm not thinking about that. Let's eat."