"For the last time," Griswold shouted, "halt!" He made a motion with his hands, as if to push them back, as if to convey his meaning by signs. Involuntarily, then, his eyes sought those of Berkeley. A look of pleading, helplessness. Berkeley met the glance and read the anxiety there, the tragic unwillingness of the man to arouse posterity’s rage or contempt. It was a brief glance only from both men and it was over. Captain Griswold’s head came up; his shoulders straightened in the face of the oncoming monsters. They were close now, and coming closer. As always, the experts were free with their advice when it was not needed. When the chips were down, they could do no more than smirk and shrug a helpless shoulder. He gave the command, and now there was no uncertainty. "Fire!" ———— The celebration was being held in the Great Stadium, the largest, most costly structure that Man had ever built. It was a fitting structure for the more important football games; and used on occasion, if they could be fitted in without upsetting the schedule, for State affairs. Now the stadium was filled to capacity, its floor churned by the careless feet of the thousands upon thousands who had managed to obtain an entrance. From the quarter-mile-high tiers of seats, from the floor of the stadium, the shouts welled up, washing over the platform at the North end. "Griswold! Griswold!" It was not yet time for history to assess the justice of the massacre. The President raised his hand. The battery of video cameras picked up each move. "Our hopes, our fears, our hearts, our prayers rode through every space-dark, star-flecked mile with these glorious pioneers." He turned then to the captain. "For the people of Earth, _Admiral_ Griswold, this medal. A new medal for a Guider of Destiny, Maker of Empire, Son of Man!" The voice faltered, stopped. The crowd on the floor of the stadium was pressing outward from the center, screaming in pain and terror. At the moment when the people should be quiet, rapt in reverence, they were emptying the floor of the stadium. But not willingly. They were being pressed back and out, as a great weight pushes its way through water. Those who could move outward no farther were crushed where they stood. And then the ship appeared. Hazy of outline, shimmering with impossible angles, seen by its glinting fire of light rather than by its solid form, as if its reality were in some other dimension and this only a projection, the ship appeared. The President’s hand reached out and gripped Griswold’s shoulder as he leaned back and back, trying to determine its vast height. A silence then clutched the crowd—a terrified silence. A full minute passed. Even on the platform, where all the pioneers of Mars were assembled with Earth’s dignitaries, even there the people cowered back away from this unseeable, unknowable horror.