"Wait a minute!" the man said. The harsh command froze Herb. He turned. He found himself looking into reward-hungry eyes. The hand below them held an automatic. The hand was trembling with greed. "You're that starman," the proprietor said. Herb caught his breath. He jerked to his left and spun around. He ran. * * * * * The harsh roar of the automatic burst behind him. The proprietor had taken flight for an admission of identity; but perhaps latent uncertainty had carried the bullet high. It smashed into the window pane above Herb's head, and glass fragments erupted upon the pavement. "Stop him! Stop him!" cried the proprietor as Herb fled. The sunlight was bright. Herb bolted across an intersection, narrowly missed being run down by a car, dodged around a heavy truck and ran to the left. There was no more shooting. There was a hub-hub behind him. A policeman's whistle sounded. Herb jerked around another corner. There was the sound of pursuit. He ran a block, doubled back, entered a department store, lost himself in the crowd, took the elevator up to the third floor. He tried to look interested in the merchandise. Each second cost him an extra heart beat. He left a counter and went to the stairs. He became inconspicuously preoccupied with distant thoughts. He was once more on the ground floor. He left the building by the opposite entrance. He hailed a taxi. His heart beat desperately. Once settled in the rear seat, he felt almost secure. The worst was over. He told the driver, "Down town." After a dozen blocks, he got out. When the cab was gone, he walked back the way he had come. He found a hotel, registered, and was shown his room. He stood at the window. A police car cruised by. For a moment, he was afraid it would stop. _I must get a gun_, he thought. Time seemed to be falling swiftly in the bright air. _I must, I must._ He went to the television set and switched it on. The starships were still occupying the screen. The sun was slanting its rays across the desert. An announcer spoke in a dryly excited voice. Herb sat down, and when at length one starship lumbered into the center of the triangle and its beam struck out, weariness and futility possessed him. They were planting the atomic seed. Within an hour there would be no hope of reprieve. There was none now; and yet it seemed, doom was not irreversible until this last act was accomplished and the seed in place. Herb spun the selector. He did not want to witness the climactic moment. What was the name of Norma's hotel? He remembered. He went to the telephone.... * * * * * When Norma arrived in answer to the call, she found an unshaven Herb nervously pacing the floor. "Where have you been?" she asked breathlessly. He seated himself on the bed and wrinkled the coverlet in his hands, working with it furiously. "They're going to blow up the world," he said. "Who--What?"