Bill Graham chuckled softly, as if it all were very funny. But he reached out and shook Alan's hand. "I'll watch her, Alan." Alan nodded, turned to Laura and kissed her quickly without saying goodbye. That way, he thought, he had to see her again.... Everything was so normal on the streets of New Washington, it almost made Alan think the Federation uprising, the death of his father and Laura's father, Keifer's ultimatum to Earth--all were part of some wild, impossible dream. The boys and girls were walking hand in hand. The old men were walking their dogs or taking their evening constitutionals or stopping on street corners to talk with their friends. The theater marquees were gay and well-lighted. It was only when you studied the faces and saw the lines of worry, the furrowed brows, the thoughtful, furtive looks, only when you listened to the conversations and heard "Tremaine's ultimatum" ... "nothing we can do" ... "helpless" ... "he wouldn't dare" ... "I'm going to pretend nothing's wrong and just go right on living till tomorrow night" ... "what else can you do?" ... "dear God, what else?" ... it was only then that you knew. Alan took a bus to the center of the city and fell in with a group of reporters converging on the White House. One of them was saying, "About time they let us in on this. That International Security Council hasn't uttered a peep since the ultimatum, but they've been meeting continuously." "Ought to make a few banner headlines," another man said. "So what? After tomorrow night, there won't be any more headlines--or anything. If I could just get that Tremaine here, how I'd love to choke the life out of him with these two hands." "You and about five billion other people." * * * * * They entered the White House grounds. Ahead of them, the stately white building was ablaze with light. Guards were stationed at all the entrances. The reporters began to queue up in single file as two uniformed men examined their credentials. His heart pounding, Alan let the line carry him forward. All the doors were guarded. If he could not get in this way, he could not get in at all. Finally, he was saying: "Adams, New York Times." "Your press card, Mr. Adams?" "I left it at the hotel." The guard shook his head. "Sorry. You'll have to get it." "I don't want to miss the press conference." The guard looked up and shouted, "Anyone else from the New York Times here?" A man behind Alan nodded. "You know this fellow?" The man studied Alan, then shrugged. "Don't think so. I never forget a face." "He says he's from the Times." "The devil he is." "Who are you?" the guard asked Alan.