"I don't get it," mumbled Ryd, frowning. He found words that he had heard somewhere a day or so before, in some bar or flophouse: "The power cylinder is going to be the salvation of Earth. It's a shot in the arm--no, right in the heart of Earth industry, here in Dynamopolis. It will turn the wheels and light the cities and--" "To hell with that!" snapped Mury, suddenly savage. His hands came up slightly, the fingers flexing; then dropped back to his sides. "Don't you know you're repeating damnable lies?" Ryd could only stare, cringing and bewildered. Mury went on with a passion shocking after his smooth calm: "The power shell is aid, yes--but with what a price! It's the thirty pieces of silver for which the venal fools who rule our nations have sold the whole planet to Mars. Because they lack the courage and vision to retool Earth's plants and factories for the inescapable conflict, they're selling us out--making Earth, the first home of man, a colony of the Red Planet. Do you know what Earth is to the great Martian land-owners? _Do you?_" He paused out of breath; then finished venomously, "Earth is a great pool of labor ready to be tapped, cheaper than robots--cheap as _slaves_!" "What about it?" gulped Ryd, drawing away from the fanatic. "What you want _me_ to do about it?" Mury took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. His face was once more bleakly impassive; only the mouth was an ugly line. "We're going to do something about it, you and I. Tonight. Now." Ryd was nearly sober. And wholly terrified. He got out chokingly, "What's that mean?" "The power shell--isn't coming in as planned." "You can't do that." "_We_ can," said Mury with a heavy accent on the first word. "And there are fifty thousand credits in it for you, Ryd. Are you with us?" Suspicion was chill reality now in Ryd's mind. And he knew one thing certainly--if he refused now to accompany Mury, he would be killed, by this man or another of his kind. For the secret power known only as _We_ never took chances. Whispered-of, terrible, and world-embracing, desperate upshot of the times in its principles of dynamitism, war, and panclasm--that was _We_. The question hung in the air for a long moment. Then Ryd, with an effort, said, "Sure." A moment later it struck him that the monosyllabic assent was suspicious; he added quickly, "I got nothing to lose, see?" It was, he realized, the cold truth. "You won't lose," said Mury. He seemed to relax. But the menace with which he had clothed himself clung, as he turned back on the way they had come. Ryd followed dog-like, his feet in their worn shoes moving without his volition. He was frightened. Out of his very fright came a longing to placate Mury, assure him that he, Ryd, was on the same side whatever happened.... After some steps he stole a sidelong glance at his tall companion, and whined, "Where ... where we going now?"