een resurrected. There were almost fifty thousand
people here in the capital; the largest congregation of population on
the entire continent. They had built well and surely this time, built
for the security and certainty of centuries to come.

Littlejohn sighed. It was hard to accept the fact that they had been
wrong; that all this would end in nothingness. They had eliminated
war, eliminated disease, eliminated famine, eliminated social
inequality, injustice, disorders external and internal--and in so
doing, they had eliminated themselves.

The sun was setting in the west, and long shadows crept over the city
below. Yes, the sun was setting and the shadows were gathering, the
night was coming to claim its own. Darkness was falling, eternal
darkness.

It was quite dark by the time Littlejohn's 'copter landed on the
rooftop of his own dwelling; so dark, in fact, that for a moment he
didn't see the strange vehicle already standing there. Not until he
had settled into his coasterchair did he notice the presence of the
other 'copter, and then it was too late. Too late to do anything
except sit and stare as the gigantic shadow loomed out of the night,
silhouetted against the sky.

The shadow shambled forward, and Littlejohn gaped, gaped in terror at
the titanic figure. He opened his mouth to speak, but words did not
form; there were no words to form, for how does one address an
apparition?

Instead, it was the apparition which spoke.

"I have been waiting for you," it said.

"Y-yes--"

"I want to talk to you." The voice was deep, menacing.

Littlejohn shifted in his coasterchair. There was nowhere to go, no
escape. He gazed up at the shadow. Finally he summoned a response.
"Shall we go inside?" he asked.

The figure shook its head. "Where? Down into that dollhouse of yours?
It isn't big enough. I've already been there. What I have to say can
be said right here."

"W-who are you?"

The figure stepped forward, so that its face was illuminated by the
fluorescence streaming from the open door which led to the inclined
chairway descending to Littlejohn's dwelling.

Littlejohn could see the face, now--the gigantic, wrinkled face,
scarred and seared and seamed. It was a human face, but utterly alien
to the humanity Littlejohn knew. Faces such as this one had
disappeared from the earth a lifetime ago. At least, history had
taught him that. History had not prepared him for the actual living
presence of a--

"Natu