ding, westwards, the sky had broken into April blue, far
away over Iowa and Kansas, over Operation Seed-corn, over the refuge for
rebels that lay at the end of all his roads....

He got set ... and lifted. A thousand miles nearer the refuge! Got set
... and lifted, balanced over plunging gulfs. His reach found a round
pilaster at the top, a perfect grip for a hand. He drew himself up, and
this time his cleated foot cut through snow to stone, and slipped, but
his hold was too good. And there he was.

No salutes, no cheers, only one more victory for life.

Even in victory, unlife gave you no respite. The doorstep was three feet
wide, hollowed by eighty years of traffic, and filled with frozen
drippings from its pseudo-Norman arch. He had to tilt across it and
catch the brass knob--like snatching a ring in a high dive.

No danger now, except sitting down in a growing puddle till someone came
along to hoist him under the armpits, and then arriving at the general's
late, with his seat black-wet.... You unhorse your foeman, curvet up to
the royal box to receive the victor's chaplet, swing from your saddle,
and fall flat on your face.

But, he cogitated on the bench inside, getting his other cleat off and
the tip back on his stick, things do even out. No hearty helper had
intervened, no snot-nosed, gaping child had twitched his attention,
nobody's secretary--pretty of course--had scurried to helpfully knock
him down with the door. They were all out front superintending arrival
of the computer.

* * * * *

The general said only, if tartly, "Oh yes, major, come in. You're late,
a'n't you?"

"It's still icy," said Ed Scott. "Had to drive carefully, you know."

In fact, he _had_ lost minutes that way, enough to have saved his exact
deadline. And that excuse, being in proportion to Filipson's standard
dimension, was fair game.

* * * * *

I wondered what dimension Clyde would go on to, now that the challenge
of war was past. To his rebels refuge at last maybe? Does it matter?
Whatever it is, life will be outclassed, and Scott-Esterbrook's brand of
life will fight back.

THE END

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Hall, "Whole Upper Extremity Transplant for Human Beings." Annals of
Surgery 1944, #120, p. 12.

Transcriber's Note:

This etext was produced from _Astounding Science Fiction_ August
1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that