"Ladeeeeeees and gentlemannnnnnnn!" the loudspeaker blared. "Pedro Morestes, the handsomest man in the world, and the most perfect physical specimen by the Olivar Test, is about to break the world's diving record of all time. Four hundred feet lie between him and the glistening surface of this world-famed pool! "Watch him, hold your breath, ladees and gentleman, there he goooooooosssss--" Pedro Morestes ran with light graceful steps toward the end of the diving board. The board flung him upward, and he seemed to stop for an infinitesimal second, poised like a bird, with the pool far below, and gasping people staring upward. One of those people watching had his wrist radio tuned to World Broadcasters. "Please," said Olduk's clearly audible radio voice, "do not touch water. If things strange happen to water, do not touch, please?" Pedro Morestes began his dazzling drop downward, twisting, twining, going through all the intricate convolutions that four hundred feet would allow him. Now! A loop, a twist, straighten out for the last fifty feet, cut the water as clean as an arrow cutting the air. Pedro Morestes eyes popped. A hoarse scream escaped his lips. Where was the flat surface that should receive him? Where were the little wavelets that usually betokened the presence of water? Why did the entire pool bulge up in the middle, and drop at the sides? Why was it that the whole pool had been replaced by an immense _hemisphere of glass_? Pedro Morestes screamed, squirmed, twisted, came down with a bone crushing shock on the bulging surface, his posterior foremost. He bounced upward for fifty feet, fell again, bounced again, fell, bounced, fell--and was locked, flat on his back, by an invisible vise that not only held him rigid, but threatened to crush him from all sides. The crowd stared in pure fright. The pool of water had become--a hemisphere of glass? And Pedro Morestes, world's diving champion, lay atop that gleaming sphere, ribs and one leg broken, unable to move a muscle.... * * * * * "Damn that kid," said Sam, throwing his newspaper to the floor. "I wanna drink," wailed the damned kid, from the bedroom. "All right, keep your pants on," growled Sam surlily. He went out to the kitchen, leaving the radio on. It had been jabbering for some time, something about Olduk. "Please," said the radio voice of Olduk, "do not touch water. Tell your friends, my friends, not to touch water...." Sam got a glass out of the cupboard, held it under the faucet, turned the faucet on. The water came out, well enough, but it wasn't water. "What the hell," Sam said incredulously. A big drop was suspended from the faucet, was growing bigger as the faucet fed it. Sam watched while it became six inches, a foot in diameter. The glass fell from his paralyzed fingers. "What the hell!" he yelled hoarsely. "I wanna glass of water," the damned kid wailed.