There was, on my mirror, this chance close detail of a single room. A woman in it, thin and pallid and frail; wasted frame--a woman old and haggard at thirty, with wisps of yellow hair turning white. In metal bunks her brood of children were huddled. Cut off here in their home, lost and forgotten in the turmoil. The woman had barred her door--there were no windows; it seemed that perhaps her ventilator had ceased to operate; she huddled, gasping, with a baby against her breast. The door burst inward. A savage who in a different age had stalked the forests of this same space stood expectantly upon the threshold. His painted face was grinning. Other faces behind him peered to watch. He bounded in; his tomahawk whirled. The woman mercifully went down at once; the children lay where he had thrown them in a gruesome little heap. He seized the baby, which still seemed alive. He held it aloft and gestured to his grinning, feathered companions. He tossed its white body toward the ceiling and flung the dripping tomahawk at the falling mark. The weapon cleaved the baby's head as it fell to the floor. And there were other scenes, indescribable. Rooms of small factories. I saw one of them, where for this whole day a group of young girls had been trapped. The swinging viaduct leading from their doorway had fallen with the press of a fleeing mob; a girder had fallen, pinning their door so that they could not open it. They were trapped; and though the official safety emergency station in that area was still in our hands, it was too flooded with similar calls, and too disorganized, to heed this one. * * * * * A room of young girls. And by some chance, when the Turberites advanced, a leering giant had peered through a narrow ventilator orifice and seen them. With his huge stone ax he hacked away at the ventilator. Others took his place when he was winded. They came through at last into the room-- A news-mirror beside us--one of the few circuits still in operation--flashed a message: "Turber attacking the local ventilating power-house. To shut off our power--paralyze our ventilating system." So, with that done, he could use his gas fumes! I had not heard of an attack at the ventilating power-house. The one mentioned was in Lower Manhattan--local to that area. It was far underground. The subterranean city was a vast catacomb with a depth everywhere of several hundred feet. We still held our sections of it. "Alan! What will Central Headquarters do about that? Has it been moved yet? Central Headquarters moved?"