With a rather wheezy hum, the jeep started toward the nearest gateway. Phil felt a thinning of the golden peace around them, as if, he told himself, Lucky were resting. The jeep, though gaining a little speed, seemed to move as slowly as a school slideway. But looking back, he saw that the group on the balcony was still standing as motionless as dress display dummies with the power off--all except Billig, who was once again moving about rapidly. "Get them," Phil could barely hear Billig's cracked voice implore, as he darted from one to the other. "Kill them." The jeep nosed through the high doorway and started up a ramp. "Dora!" Phil heard Billig yell. "Grab my ortho and kill them." The effect of the golden wave must be wearing off, Phil thought, for just as the top of the gateway was cutting off his view he saw the violet blonde stoop rapidly behind the guard wall. The next second a blue beam flashed, and smoke and starry splatter sprayed up just behind the jeep. The beam moved up and encountered the top of the gateway. It notched that, came a little closer to them, and then was stopped by the thickness of the wall. The ramp turned and Phil saw a half dozen men in the Fun Incorporated company guard uniform. Two of them had drawn their guns and the other four hadn't. They seemed to be arguing hurriedly about something. They turned and saw the jeep. The two with guns raised them and the others reached for theirs. Then Lucky sat up on Phil's lap straight as the statuette of Bast, and Phil felt him let go of another of those great golden invisible waves. Phil could tell the moment it hit the guards from the sudden change in their tough faces. They watched the jeep with awe and incredulous grins as it went past. Farther on they found themselves approaching an expanse of gray cold light, against which a party of some twenty heavily armed men was partly silhouetted, although they were advancing warily along the walls. They were carrying guns, nets and sprays that could swiftly immobilize men in plastic cocoons, and what looked like bird cages. They leveled their weapons, but once again and mightier than ever, so mighty it made Phil shiver with understanding, the golden wave rolled forward to engulf them. Once again the jeep glided past astonished, troubled faces that smiled in spite of themselves. As the jeep rolled out into the cool, shadowy dawn, Phil stroked Lucky's soft, springy fur and murmured, "Little peace maker. You even gentled the FBL." Lucky looked up at him coquettishly and then yawned tremendously and curled up on Phil's lap. The feeling of golden harmony subsided until only a ghost of it lingered. "I know," Phil said, "you're tired from so much peace making." He suddenly felt extremely tired himself, yet he went on to say, in slurred syllables, "Lucky, I don't care whether you come from Egypt, Russia, or the jungles of the Amazon--you're good for the USA." XIII