nd billions on billions of such repetitions, the handful of photons
reached the relatively cool photosphere of the sun. But the long
battle had taken some of the drive out of them; over the past million
years, even the strongest had become only hard ultraviolet, and the
weakest just sputtered out in the form of long radio waves.

But now, at last, they were free! And in the first flush of this
newfound freedom, they flung themselves over ninety-three million
miles of space, traveling at one hundred and eighty-six thousand miles
a second, and making the entire trip in less than eight and one-half
minutes.

They struck the earth's ionosphere, and their numbers diminished. The
hard ultraviolet was gobbled up by ozone; much of the blue was
scattered through the atmosphere. The remainder bore steadily onward.

Down through the air they came, only slightly weakened this time. They
hit the glass of a window in the Hotel New Yorker, losing more of
their members in the plunge.

And, a few feet from the glass, they ended their million-year epic by
illuminating a face.

The face responded to them with something less than pleasure. It was
clear that the face did not like being illuminated. The light was very
bright, much too bright. It seemed to be searing its way through the
face's closed eyelids, right past the optic nerves into the brain-pan
itself. The face twisted in a sudden spasm, as if its brain were
shriveling with heat. Its owner thoughtfully turned over, and the face
sought the seclusion and comparative darkness of a pillow.

Unfortunately, the motion brought the face's owner to complete
wakefulness. He did not want to be awake, but he had very little
choice in the matter. Even though his face was no longer being
illuminated, he could feel other rays of sunlight eating at the back
of his head. He put the pillow over his head and felt more comfortable
for a space, but this slight relief passed, too.

He thought about mausoleums. Mausoleums were nice, cool, dark places
where there was never any sun or heat, and never any reason to wake
up. Maybe, he told himself cunningly, if he went to sleep again he
would wake up dead, in a mausoleum. That, he thought, would be nice.

Death was nice and pleasant. Unfortunately, he realized, he was not
dead. And there was absolutely no chance of his ever getting back to
sleep. He finally rolled over again, being very careful to avoid any
more poisonous sunlight. Getting up was an