bacterial epidemic that already had swept the
Atlantic seaboard.

"Any late news?" Garth asked, over Dollard's shoulder.

"For your information, I picked up a flash from Denver. Just before
you came in--"

"Bad, eh?"

"You said it, Garth. A thousand new cases. Some think the Asiatics got
another two or three missiles through the Canadian radar barrier. More
likely, the germs hitch-hiked westward on human carriers, gangs of
them streaming out of the eastern states. The mobs are like vermin;
you can't hold 'em back. They sneak through the quarantine at a
hundred points."

"They're people, aren't they?" said Garth, quietly.

"People? They're no more people than the loutish mechs you just did
away with today."

"Under your orders," Garth pointed out.

"But it had to be done. Let's not be squeamish children--"

"Yes, so it did. You're safe enough."

"You and I both," Dollard completed. "As long as we're together, we're
both safe...."

Dollard gripped his hands together and glanced nervously about the
timbered walls of his High Sierra lodge, as if to assure himself that
this carefully guarded retreat would protect him from the grisly
crawling death that was demolishing his invincible country. Even in
the presence of his most trusted hireling, Garth, who had been
executive officer of Dollard's vast combine, the millionaire was
ashamed to admit how the report from Colorado--which claimed the
enemy-seeded plague had already crossed the broad prairie states--had
been enough to send him into a cowering state of panic. And now, even
after assurance that he could soon take off in his private vessel,
bound for bacteria-free space and the antiseptic sanctuary of Venus,
he was still suffering a paroxysm of fear so great that not even a
double slug of his costly hoarded alcohol could banish it completely.

* * * * *

Outside, hired thugs, outfitted with hydroflame rifles, patrolled the
two roads entering the narrow valley--armed with orders to shoot to
kill all unauthorized intruders. Already, the guards' task was proving
more difficult as refugees from the Los Angeles area poured into the
mountains by way of Bishop and Highway 395. Ragged foodless marauders,
they swarmed through the resort villages in vicious bands, plundering
and murdering in futile efforts to stave off starvation and death.

Dollard got up from his position before the teleset, squinting
sidewise at Garth while he pou