Then the tendrils of the Capeks fell away from his arms. He heard the clatter of cylinders falling to the floor. He could see nothing. But something in his inner consciousness told him to flee; some deep intuition older than thought, born of a time when the desert beyond the city was lush vegetation and furry animals roamed its dawn trails, an ancient wisdom cried of danger in the darkness. He remembered he had been facing the door. Arms outstretched, he moved forward, hit the wall, groped about and finally found the opening. He moved outside into the street. He remembered which way to go, but blind he could never find the building in which he had left the humans. He could be of little assistance now if he did. And he had lost so much time. Rod rolled slowly, his mind devoid of a solution. He would be an easy prey to the first Capek that chanced upon him. The wheels of his carriage hit something. Before he could stop, he fell over the obstacle, crashed to the pavement. He lay there prepared for anything and expecting immediate death. But there was no sound. Carefully, he felt about him, discovered the thing over which he had fallen. By its shape, he made out the form of a dead Capek--the one he had killed on the way in. Whispering a prayer to whatever god still lingered in this unsanctioned age, he felt for the neck cable, would have made burnt offerings when he found the dead eye unbroken. He detached it and, removing his own, set it there--could see again. He glanced to the power plant. It was now a mass of twisted, steaming metal. The whole building had melted silently to the ground and in the rising waves of heat, he could see the glowing shells of cremated Capeks, those that had captured him. Looking to his own cylinder, Rod saw it was blistered with heat, one arm was badly bent. The destruction of the dynamos had released tremendous stored energy, had consumed the whole building as it dissipated into the air. As Rod hurried up the street, his mind was filled with a three-fold thankfulness; to a sixth sense that even his soulless reincarnation could not disavow, to the Capek 83 who, with whatever motive, had given him a body with such resistance, and to a merciful guiding spirit that sent in his path the accident of regained sight. Swiftly he shot up the street. The sun was low in the west and the alleys were darkening. But he made no attempt at concealment now. The Capeks were nothing to the fate he had survived. Thanks again to 83, he would have a fair chance against them unless greatly outnumbered. As Rod neared the squat building where he had left Ralph and the woman, he saw no movement. Before the door was a great heap of machinery, the street was filled with scattered parts. The street was deserted. The Capeks were gone. All was silent. * * * * *