in a couple of generations.

"They got their troubles though," Pop reminded me and that led us to
speculating about the war we'd dipped into. Savannah Fortress, we knew,
was supposed to be based on some big atomic plants on the river down
that way, but its culture seemed to have a fiercer ingredient than
Atla-Alamos. Before we knew it we were, musing almost romantically about
the plight of Atla-Hi, besieged by superior and (it was easy to suppose)
barbaric forces, and maybe distant Los Alamos in a similar
predicament--Alice reminded me how the voice had asked if they were
still dying out there. For a moment I found myself fiercely proud that I
had been able to strike a blow against evil aggressors. At once, of
course, then, the revulsion came.

"This is a hell of a way," I said, "for three so-called realists to be
mooning about things."

"Yes, especially when your heroes kicked us out," Alice agreed.

Pop chuckled. "Yep," he said, "they even took Ray's artillery away from
him."

"You're wrong there, Pop," I said, sitting up. "I still got one of the
grenades--the one the pilot had in his fist." To tell the truth I'd
forgotten all about it and it bothered me a little now to feel it
snugged up in my pocket against my hip bone where the skin is thin.

"You believe what that old Dutchman said about the steel cubes being
atomic grenades?" Pop asked me.

"I don't know," I said, "He sure didn't sound enthusiastic about telling
us the truth about anything. But for that matter he sounded mean enough
to tell the truth figuring we'd think it was a lie. Maybe this _is_ some
sort of baby A-bomb with a fuse timed like a grenade." I got it out and
hefted it. "How about I press the button and drop it out the door? Then
we'll know." I really felt like doing it--restless, I guess.

"Don't be a fool, Ray," Alice said.

"Don't tense up, I won't," I told her. At the same time I made myself
the little promise that if I ever got to feeling restless, that is,
restless and _bad_, I'd just go ahead and punch the button and see what
happened--sort of leave my future up to the gods of the Deathlands, you
might say.

"What makes you so sure it's a weapon?" Pop asked.

"What else would it be," I asked him, "that they'd be so hot on getting
them in the middle of a war?"

"I don't know for sure," Pop said. "I've made a guess, but I don't want
to tell it now. What I'm getting at, Ray, is that your first thought
about anything you find--i