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the lotof those in more favored nations. He watched tyrannies andauthoritarian governments fall under the passive resistance of theirpeoples. He saw militarism crumble to impotence as the Aztlaninfluence spread through every facet of society, first as a trickle,then as a steady stream, and finally as a rushing torrent. He sawMankind on the brink of a Golden Age--and he was unsatisfied.

  Reason said that the star men were exactly what they claimed to be.Their every action proved it. Their consistency was perfect, theirmotives unimpeachable, and the results of their efforts wereastounding. Life on Earth was becoming pleasant for millions who neverknew the meaning of the word. Living standards improved, andeverywhere men were conscious of a feeling of warmth and brotherhood.There was no question that the aliens were doing exactly what theypromised.

  But reason also told him that the aliens were subtly and methodicallydestroying everything that man had created, turning him from anindividual into a satisfied puppet operated by Aztlan strings. For manis essentially lazy--always searching for the easier way. Why shouldhe struggle to find an answer when the Aztlans had discovered itmillennia ago and were perfectly willing to share their knowledge? Whyshould he use inept human devices when those of the aliens performedsimilar operations with infinitely more ease and efficiency? Whyshould he work when all he had to do was ask? There was plan behindtheir acts.

  But at that point reason dissolved into pure speculation. Why werethey doing this? Was it merely mistaken kindliness or was there adeeper more subtle motive? Matson didn't know, and in that lack ofknowledge lay the hell in which he struggled.

  For two years he stayed on with the OSR, watching humanity rush downan unmarked road to an uncertain future. Then he ran away. He couldtake no more of this blind dependence upon alien wisdom. And with thechange in administration that had occurred in the fall elections he nolonger had the sense of personal loyalty to the President which hadkept him working at a job he despised. He wanted no part of this bravenew world the aliens were creating. He wanted to be alone. Like ahermit of ancient times who abandoned society to seek his soul, Matsonfled to the desert country of the South-west--as far as possible fromthe Aztlans and their works.

  The grimly beautiful land toughened his muscles, blackened his skin,and brought him a measure of peace. Humanity retreated to remotenessexcept for Seth Winters, a leathery old-timer he had met on his firsttrip into the desert. The acquaintance had ripened to friendship. Sethfurnished a knowledge of the desert country which Matson lacked, andMatson's money provided the occasional grubstake they needed. Forweeks at a time they never saw another human--and Matson wassatisfied. The world could go its own way. He would go his.

  Running away was the smartest thing he could have done. Others morebrave perhaps, or perhaps less rational--had tried to fight, to forman underground movement to oppose these altruists from space; but theywere a tiny minority so divided in motives and purpose that they couldnot act as a unit. They were never more than a nuisance, and withoutpopular support they never had a chance. After the failure of acomplicated plot to assassinate the aliens, they were quickly roundedup and confined. And the aliens continued their work.

  Matson shrugged. It was funny how little things could mark milepostsin a man's life. If he had known of the underground he probably wouldhave joined it and suffered the same penalty for failure. If he hadn'tfled, if he hadn't met Seth Winters, if he hadn't taken that last tripinto the desert, if any one of a hundred little things had happeneddifferently he would not be here. That last trip into the desert--heremembered it as though it were yesterday....

  The yellow flare of a greasewood fire cast flickering spears of lightinto the encircling darkness. Above, in the purplish black vault ofthe moonless sky the stars shone down with icy splendor. The air wasquiet, the evening breeze had died, and the stillness of the desertnight pressed softly upon the earth. Far away, muted by distance, camethe ululating wail of a coyote.

  Seth Winters laid another stick of quick-burning greasewood on thefire and squinted across the smoke at Matson who was lying on hisback, arms crossed behind his head, eyeing the night sky with thefascination of a dreamer.

  "It's certainly peaceful out here," Matson murmured as he rose to hisfeet, stretched, and sat down again looking into the tiny fire.

  "'Tain't nothin' unusual, Dan'l. Not out here it ain't. It's beenplumb peaceful on this here desert nigh onto a million years. An'why's it peaceful? Mainly 'cuz there ain't too many humans messin'around in it."

  "Possibly you're right, Seth."

  "Shore I'm right. It jest ain't nacheral fer a bunch of Homo saps toget together without an argyment startin' somewhere. 'Tain't thenature of the critter to be peaceable. An' y'know, thet's the part ofthis here sweetness an' light between nations that bothers me. Lasttime I was in Prescott, I set down an' read six months ofnewspapers--an' everything's jest too damn good to be true. Seems likeeverybody's gettin' to love everybody else." He shook his head. "Thehull world's as sticky-sweet as molasses candy. It jest ain'tnacheral!"

  "The star men are keeping their word. They said that they would bringus peace. Isn't that what they're doing?"

  "Shucks Dan'l--that don't give 'em no call to make the world a blastedhoney-pot with everybody bubblin' over with brotherly love. Thereain't no real excitement left. Even the Commies ain't raisin' helllike they useta. People are gettin' more like a bunch of damn wooliesevery day."

  "I'll admit that Mankind had herd instincts," Matson replied lazily,"but I've never thought of them as particularly sheeplike. More like awolf pack, I'd say."

  "Wal, there's nothin' wolflike about 'em right now. Look, Dan'l, yuhknow what a wolf pack's like. They're smart, tough, and mean--an' theold boss wolf is the smartest, toughest, and meanest critter in thehull pack. The others respect him 'cuz he's proved his ability tolead. But take a sheep flock now--the bellwether is jest a nice gentleold castrate thet'll do jest whut the sheepherder wants. He's got nooriginality. He's jest a noise thet the rest foller."

  "Could be."

  "It shore is! Jes f'r instance, an' speakin' of bellwethers, have yuhever heard of a character called Throckmorton Bixbee?"

  "Can't say I have. He sounds like a nance."

  "Whutever a nance is--he's it! But yuh're talkin' about our nextPresident, unless all the prophets are wrong. He's jest as bad as hisname. Of all the gutless wonders I've ever heard of that pilgrim takesthe prize. He even looks like a rabbit!"

  "I can see where I had better catch up on some contemporary history,"Matson said. "I've been out in the sticks too long."

  "If yuh know what's good fer yuh, yuh'll stay here. The rest of thecountry's goin' t'hell. Brother Bixbee's jest a sample. About the onlything that'd recommend him is that he's hot fer peace--an' he's gotthose furriners' blessing. Seems like those freaks swing a lottaweight nowadays, an' they ain't shy about tellin' folks who an' whatthey favor. They've got bold as brass this past year."

  Matson nodded idly--then stiffened--turning a wide eyed stare on Seth.A blinding light exploded in his brain as the words sank in. Withcrystal clarity he knew the answer! He laughed harshly.

  Winters stared at him with mild surprise. "What's bit yuh, Dan'l?"

  But Matson was completely oblivious, busily buttressing the flash ofinspiration. Sure--that was the only thing it could be! Those alienswere working on a program--one that was grimly recognizable once hisattention was focussed on it. There must have been considerablepressure to make them move so fast that a short-lived human could seewhat they were planning--but Matson had a good idea of what wasdriving them, an atomic war that could decimate the world would be allthe spur they'd need!

  They weren't playing for penny ante stakes. They didn't want toexploit Mankind. They didn't give a damn about Mankind! To themhumanity was merely an unavoidable nuisance--something to be pushedaside, to be made harmless and dependent, and ultimately to be quietlyand bloodlessly eliminated. Man's civilization held nothing that thestar men wanted, but man's planet--that was a different story! Trulythe aliens
were right when they considered man a savage. Like thesavage, man didn't realize his most valuable possession was his land!

  The peaceful penetration was what had fooled him. Mankind, faced witha similar situation, and working from a position of overwhelmingstrength would have reacted differently. Humanity would have invadedand conquered. But the aliens had not even considered this obviousstep.

  Why?

  The answer was simple and logical. They couldn't! Even