ancient past. Grown tremendous, ravenous, it
had made the journey to a nearby star and eaten that, replenishing the
cells converted into energy for the trip. But then there was no more
food, and the next star was an enormous distance away.

It set out on the journey, but long before it reached the food, its
energy ran out. Mass, converted back to energy to make the trip, was
used up. It shrank.

Finally, all the energy was gone. It was a spore, drifting aimlessly,
lifelessly, in space.

That was the first time. Or was it? It thought it could remember back to
a distant, misty time when the Universe was evenly covered with stars.
It had eaten through them, cutting away whole sections, growing,
swelling. And the stars had swung off in terror, forming galaxies and
constellations.

Or was that a dream?

Methodically, it fed on the Earth, wondering where the rich food was.
And then it was back again, but this time above the leech.

It waited, but the tantalizing food remained out of reach. It was able
to sense how rich and pure the food was.

Why didn't it fall?

For a long time the leech waited, but the food stayed out of reach. At
last, it lifted and followed.

The food retreated, up, up from the surface of the planet. The leech
went after as quickly as its bulk would allow.

The rich food fled out, into space, and the leech followed. Beyond, it
could sense an even richer source.

The hot, wonderful food of a sun!

* * * * *

O'Donnell served champagne for the scientists in the control room.
Official dinners would follow, but this was the victory celebration.

"A toast," the general said, standing. The men raised their glasses. The
only man not drinking was a lieutenant, sitting in front of the control
board that guided the drone spaceship.

"To Micheals, for thinking of--what was it again, Micheals?"

"Antaeus." Micheals had been drinking champagne steadily, but he didn't
feel elated. Antaeus, born of Ge, the Earth, and Poseidon, the Sea. The
invincible wrestler. Each time Hercules threw him to the ground, he
arose refreshed.

Until Hercules held him in the air.

Moriarty was muttering to himself, figuring with slide rule, pencil and
paper. Allenson was drinking, but he didn't look too happy about it.

"Come on, you birds of evil omen," O'Donnell said, pouring more
champagne. "Figure it out later. Right now, drink." He turned to the
operator. "How's it going?"

Mic