Why should
he struggle to find an answer when the Aztlans had discovered it
millennia ago and were perfectly willing to share their knowledge? Why
should he use inept human devices when those of the aliens performed
similar operations with infinitely more ease and efficiency? Why
should he work when all he had to do was ask? There was plan behind
their acts.

But at that point reason dissolved into pure speculation. Why were
they doing this? Was it merely mistaken kindliness or was there a
deeper more subtle motive? Matson didn't know, and in that lack of
knowledge lay the hell in which he struggled.

For two years he stayed on with the OSR, watching humanity rush down
an unmarked road to an uncertain future. Then he ran away. He could
take no more of this blind dependence upon alien wisdom. And with the
change in administration that had occurred in the fall elections he no
longer had the sense of personal loyalty to the President which had
kept him working at a job he despised. He wanted no part of this brave
new world the aliens were creating. He wanted to be alone. Like a
hermit of ancient times who abandoned society to seek his soul, Matson
fled to the desert country of the South-west--as far as possible from
the Aztlans and their works.

The grimly beautiful land toughened his muscles, blackened his skin,
and brought him a measure of peace. Humanity retreated to remoteness
except for Seth Winters, a leathery old-timer he had met on his first
trip into the desert. The acquaintance had ripened to friendship. Seth
furnished a knowledge of the desert country which Matson lacked, and
Matson's money provided the occasional grubstake they needed. For
weeks at a time they never saw another human--and Matson was
satisfied. The world could go its own way. He would go his.

Running away was the smartest thing he could have done. Others more
brave perhaps, or perhaps less rational--had tried to fight, to form
an underground movement to oppose these altruists from space; but they
were a tiny minority so divided in motives and purpose that they could
not act as a unit. They were never more than a nuisance, and without
popular support they never had a chance. After the failure of a
complicated plot to assassinate the aliens, they were quickly rounded
up and confined. And the aliens continued their work.

Matson shrugged. It was funny how little things could mark mileposts
in a man's life. If he had known of the undergr