o hook up in the plane."

Several men were waving out the next transport. It lumbered forward as
the other one cleared the field and circled west toward Birmingham.

"I'd feel better with a rifle," one of the troops told the lieutenant.

"What the hell," one of the other men said, "You'd have to clean it when
you got back!"

"Let's go!" the lieutenant said.

The platoon moved into the waiting transport.

A medical aide trailed up at the rear, carrying his hypodermic kit. Once
the platoon overcame the mutant, he would inject enough morphine to
knock the mutant out for at least twenty-four hours.

The female in the third cortile saw the lumbering transport, saw the
silken blossoms swaying down from it. It amused her to wait. She was in
no hurry. She was going to take it slowly at first: savoring the first
few: before killing became a mere impersonal, mechanical operation.

The soldiers were unarmed. They landed, divested themselves of their
chutes, trotted toward an assembly area designated by the lieutenant.
When they were grouped, they started to close in on her--advancing
nervously.

She lifted the focus rod. So this was the best they could send against
her! She concentrated. She would turn them into flaming torches. Then
she would demolish all the buildings within range. But first the
screaming human torches....

Nothing happened. The focus rod was as useless as wood.

Her mind was cramped. It was no longer as alert as it had been in the
space station. She was now adjusted to the openness around her. She
realized something was badly wrong.

The soldiers, smiling now, were almost upon her.

She dropped the focus rod and started to run.

* * * * *

In Washington, Walt and Julia waited by the signal generator that was in
operation, broadcasting its interference across the whole planet. Julia,
bereft of her mutant powers, sat limply in a folding chair; her body was
a stupor of exhaustion; she watched the activity around her with
listless, heavy-lidded eyes.

General Tibbets paced nervously before the second generator.

Dr. Norvel hovered at the control panel.

"It's finished," a technician said, straightening stiffly from the
electrical wiring at the rear of the panel.

The general stopped pacing. "Walt! Are you ready?"

"Okay," Dr. Norvel said. "Turn it on."

"I'm ready," Walt said.

A power supply moaned.

"Here we go, Walt."

A technician ran a hand through