From Chicago!--fifteen hundred miles, the instantaneous transportation of living matter. Greg's mind boggled at the familiar fact; he felt the hate and the fear again. These were not the natural children of men, but monstrosities spawned by an unknown universe and eating out the heart of human culture. Greg stood up, his arms stiff and his fists clenched. "When I need the help of a kid," he growled, "I'll know it's time to cash in my chips." "It's wrong to think that way, Captain Greg." "No pint-sized child's going to tell me--" "I wanted to make things easier for you. You should have stayed in the colonies; it was a mistake to come home." "Now you're trying to drive us off the earth!" "We want to save you the discomfort of homecoming. We can't turn back the clock; neither can you." * * * * * Greg strode down the deserted street, through the small drifts of sand. He recognized the corner where there used to be a bar. He flung open the door and entered the long, dark room. The stale air smelled of dust and neglect; his boots echoed hollowly on the oak floor. He fumbled for a match and in the pale, yellow light he saw the bottles crowding the shelves. He snatched a fifth of bourbon and ripped off the cap. He gulped the liquor thirstily and the hot fire burned warm in his veins. After the third drink he felt the strong self-confidence of his manhood again. He leaned his elbow against the bar and glanced toward the street. The sad-eyed kid was out there somewhere, waiting like a nightmare; or maybe he had already done his magic and transported himself back to Chicago. It didn't matter. The kid wasn't human. Greg took another pull at the bottle and he saw it all very clearly. In the beginning men had speculated about life forms on other worlds. Before Greg's pioneering flight to Mars the Sunday supplements had been filled with a vast number of lurid speculations. Yet the spacemen had found nothing but virgin worlds which became the colonies of man. The truth was--Greg understood it now--they had looked for intelligent life in familiar forms. But there had been something out there, something as undetectable as a virus epidemic--and as deadly. It had invaded the earth and captured the minds of the children. Greg killed the bottle. By that time he was very impressed with the brilliance of his own reasoning. Small inconsistencies kept nagging at his mind and it seemed strange that no one had ever thought of it before--but all that was of no consequence. Greg heard footsteps outside. His body tensed. Was it the kid coming back? He would know what Greg was thinking; he would know how close Greg was to the real truth. And the new children--no, invaders; Greg must remember that--would not let him survive. They were puny and undersized. Physically, Greg had no reason to be afraid of them. But how was he to fight an enemy who could instantly disappear and rematerialize thousands--or millions--of miles away?