"Ahhhhh," Bud said darkly. "Would the President have assigned me a body guard if it weren't true? _Would he?_ There are extremists in this country--Communists and Socialists--who stop at nothing to prevent the starmen from coming back. Even Frank...." Norma's face grew a shade paler. "But he's the one...." "You can never tell! But I'll tell you this. I pray every night, Sis. I get down on my knees, and I pray that God will let me live long enough." Bud's mind suddenly flashed back to his childhood, and he remembered praying that God would let him assassinate Stalin. God needed only to arm him and transport him to the Kremlin. He could have done the rest. He shook his head darkly again. "You don't understand the dangers." He felt courageous. It took _guts_ to face the Communist menace. She wanted to run. She clenched her fists. This is Bud, your brother, she thought. He's just upset. "I just wanted to see you for a moment," she said. "It wasn't about anything important." Bud rubbed his hand caressingly over the box. "Yes?" "I'll let you get back to work." She stood up and started for the door. "Don't worry about Frank!" Bud said sharply. "He's all right. Nothing's happened to him." Norma was gone. Bud began to cry, and looking at the box, he whispered, "It's all your fault. You made me do it. You did, _you made me_!" CHAPTER IX Herb knew, even before the spider ships touched ground, that he was going to murder Bud. The ships were motionless. Slowly suspense mounted. At last one ship opened its port. The landing ladder spun away. Down came the Oligarch, alone, dressed simply in a solid color double breasted suit. A businessman's suit. There was something reassuring and normal about him. There was initial silence, and then the cheer rose and thundered. He went directly to the platform. President Wilkerson advanced to meet him. Their hands joined, and a pleasantry passed unheard beneath the cheering. The Oligarch surveyed the welcoming party of Congressmen, foreign diplomats, and government officials. He saw Bud. He crossed to him. The cheer became deafening. They exchanged a few whispered words. Lip readers might have caught the question and the assent. Then, smiling, they turned to the public. Nodding, waving, Bud (visibly upset about something) tried to give the impression of recognizing each face individually. The Oligarch bowed his head modestly. Herb watched from the port of the spider ship. He clenched his fists angrily. If only he had a weapon of some sort. The President spoke briefly. Then, as the Oligarch moved toward the speaker's platform, Herb dropped swiftly down the ladder. His feet touched the ground. The Oligarch watched from the corner of his eye. Herb moved toward the crowd. The crowd leaned forward to catch the Oligarch's every word. And he was cleansed. He was free of all responsibility: it was now between Herb and Bud. If Herb succeeded....