B. T. Revanche allowed himself to be borne along with the current. Once inside the pyramid, however, he separated himself from the crowd, and ran down a side-passage. The main body was being forced into the open door of the vault. He did not wish to go with them. He had persuaded Da Vincelleo to prepare a private entrance for him. He ran with all the speed his short legs could muster, puffing hard. When he rounded a corner, he stopped short. His heart, which had been pounding only moderately now suddenly went into the Walpurgisnacht terror music of Moussorgsky's _Night on Bare Mountain_. A Bioid X was stationed down the hall, exactly in front of the mural that concealed the secret door! He paused, sucked in oxygen and courage, and then walked briskly up to the thing, confident that the electronic "interferer" he wore strapped to his belt would neutralize it. But when he got up to it his suppressed doubt and suspicion were translated into action. The flame-eyed X lifted its sword, and lashed out at him. "You have been chosen!" the frozen lips roared. The keen tip missed by a spiderweb taking Revanche's Adam's apple out in one neat chunk. Appalled, the financier turned and fled. While he ran, he turned his head and shrilled back, "You are making a mistake!" It was a futile thing to scream out, for the plastiskin ears were deaf to meaning, if not to noise. Revanche's hand fumbled on the interferer's switch, and clicked it back and forth. It seemed to be working; it was warm and humming. What then was the matter? He cursed Da Vincelleo for a strictly third-rate artisan--a bungler, botcher, and bonehead. Suddenly he was running down another empty corridor, his hard soles bouncing echoes off the faraway walls. _Slap! Slap! Puff! Wheeze!_ There was an open window at the distant end of the hall. If only he could make that...! Again he stopped short. Half hidden in the shadows stood an X on guard. It turned its head, and tiger-bright eyes flamed. Revanche choked off a scream, and whirled. He expected to see the other destroyer behind him, but it was not in sight. When he reached the junction of the two corridors, he saw it standing there, sword held out before it in satiric salute. There was but one way for Revanche to go--straight back to the bank's vault. For the first time he realized that he himself, B. T. Revanche, was being herded! He spun around again to face the oncoming terrors. Frantically, his fingers flicked the switch. "Stop! Stop! I am your master! I am Revanche! I own you!" "You are the chosen!" they bellowed. He whirled, and began running again. * * * * * When he reached the vault, he found the X's lined up in a double row, like the guards at a royal reception. They stood facing each other with eyes blazing at eyes, swords held straight out before them and legs widespread above gleaming shoes of brass.