For the first time, the alien being felt a twinge of apprehension. Certainly he had done nothing out of the ordinary in crossing the open space on foot? But perhaps there were tribal taboos and traditions among the natives that could not be ignored without attracting attention. The Triomed promised himself that he would exercise more caution in such matters. Too much depended on this reconnaissance to allow it to be disturbed by carelessness. He worked his way through the shadows between the many buildings until the wide highway was far behind him. He was very aware of the teeming life all about him--in the buildings, in the vehicles on the streets. Still, some odd impulse that stemmed from the numbed brain of his host rather than his own, kept him fairly hidden. This, he decided with something akin to annoyance, was not as it should be. If his survey were to be of any value, he must roam at will and without fear of detection, secure in his disguise. * * * * * Presently he came upon a street where streams of bipeds jostled one another, each seemingly intent upon its own particular incomprehensible errands. For a long while he watched from the shelter of an alley doorway, classifying and integrating the information his host's sharp eyes brought him. It was miraculous. Hosts of every size and description were in abundance--an unlimited supply of them. Enough for the whole population of Triom. It was beyond belief, but he could not doubt. And this was but a single concentration. A single city. From the stratosphere he had seen hundreds of similar cities. Paradise! He envisioned the fleets of Triom descending, the Triomeds emerging and infiltrating. The thoughts brought pride and anticipation. It had been so easy.... He decided not to linger. He felt now that he had his proofs and that he should return at once to his ship. Triom must be told immediately. The communicator in the ship could carry the message as soon as the craft reached a suitable distance from planetary mass. He would return, send the ship aloft, dispatch his message and then return to his host to await the others of his race. His decision made, he stepped confidently out into the throng of bipeds, seeking the shortest route back to his hidden craft. The result was instantaneous and amazing. The crowd drew back with a howling, shrieking noise, leaving him standing in the center of a circle of dead white faces. Behind the first row of bipeds, he could see others running in every direction, and screaming at the top of their voices. The racket, combined with the noises of the city, was most unpleasant. The Triomed began to be afraid. [Illustration] He broke into a rapid walk, and the crowd parted before him with much louder screeching. Here and there a biped, apparently braver than the rest, made threatening motions with bundles or knotted fists. A package struck him on the shoulder.