Crowley reached forward, grasping McClelland's shoulder. The gun swung toward him. A stream of light squirted into his middle. Crowley fell forward, pulling the captain down with him. The three other oldsters were above the three black figures sprawled on the floor, like tangled puppets. They hesitated a moment, then fell upon the ones below them, black arms and legs twitching about now like the legs of dying spiders, struggling weakly. A flash of light exploded beneath these twisting black reeds and streaks of it shot out all through the waving black cluster. The next moment, they settled and were quiet. * * * * * There was a stillness in the ancient control room, like the stillness in a sunken ship at the bottom of the sea. It lingered for a long time, while Colonel Halter watched and waited. Dr. Mueller's voice, seventy-five years tired, said, "He's--quiet now. Please come and take us out." Colonel Halter switched on his desk visiophone. "They're coming out," he said quietly. "I'll be there to supervise." On the visiophone, the general's image nodded. "Congratulations, Colonel. How are they?" "There'll be one case for psycho. Captain McClelland." "I'll be damned!" exclaimed the general. "From his record, I thought he'd never break!" "Let's say he couldn't bend, sir." A pause. "And yet he did keep them from destroying themselves." "He'll be made well again.... What about the others?" "I think they, too, are very great and human people." "Well," said the general, "they're _your_ patients. I'll see you at the ship in five minutes." "I'll be there, sir." Colonel Halter flipped the switch. The visiophone blanked out. He looked at the television screen. The six black-clothed figures were quiet on the floor of their ship's control room. They reminded him of sleeping children curled together for warmth. As he left his office and walked out into the humming city, he felt drained, still shaking with tension, realizing even now how close he had come to failure. But there was the scarred and pitted needle-nosed old hull, bright with moonlight, standing like a monument against the night sky. Not a monument to the past, though. It marked the birthplace of the future ... and he had been midwife. He felt his shoulders straighten at the knowledge as he walked toward the ancient ship. --RICHARD STOCKHAM * * * * *