The 'copter had begun to lose altitude and the flat expanse of a large roof below was its destination. Its edges were lined with other 'copters, hangars, servicing equipment, men. While he watched a pilotless ship gently rose into a flight-pattern above the roof toward which he descended. Another was descending toward it even as he was, from slightly above and from the east. And then there were little cold, stabbing fingers of panic inside him, squeezing, twisting his vitals. _Relax, mister._ Now it was no longer a pleasantly fantastic detached stage setting, with red exit lights glowing reassuringly somewhere off in the shadows of reality. Quite painfully, he felt the chiding slap of reality across his face. And it hurt. _Forget about the Contraption, forget about the smart guys, and their smart little world--their little dung-heaps of stupidity and moral cannibalism you've had the colossal luck to escape...._ _Can't do it? That's right--the kids, of course...._ _Sure, but old Mother Nature takes care of that, doesn't she? When your kids are lying dead on some foreign battlefield you can have more.... That's why life's cheap, old man.... Nature doesn't care--she'll keep supplying and supplying as long as there are fools enough to flood the market. And you have your woman, if it's kids you want...._ _It's a clean slate.... Pick up the chalk--_ _But you couldn't name them Mike and Terry, dammit, you couldn't!_ The 'copter's landing-gear touched. Its blades were still slowing as the two uniformed men appeared beside it, opened the small door. Doug climbed out, and the two stood at attention, each right palm open and raised. He understood. The universal gesture for peace--a salute. An odd gesture to replace the mock-shielding of the eyes against the glitter of a nobleman's shiny battle armor! He returned it, and they fell in at his side to escort him across the landing roof to an opening entrance, cloaks swirling gently behind them in the bright morning sunlight. * * * * * He entered the chamber still flanked by the orderlies. There were nine men and a woman about the circumference of the long, elliptical conference table, and they stood as though brought erect by a common puppet-string as he came through the wide door. The vacant chair was at the far end of the table. Silently, he was escorted to it, seated. The others bowed with but a hint of movement toward him, then seated themselves. The orderlies withdrew, and the softly curved walls seemed to grow in upon themselves as the wide doorway through which he had come soundlessly disappeared. Here they were, then. Ten people whom he did not know, called to conference for the discussion of some supposedly vital situation of which he had not the slightest inkling. And he had apparently called it, so the talking was up to him. It would mean discovery before he had said ten words.