INVADERS FROM NOWHERE
Super Science Novels – August 1941
(1941)*
L Sprague de Camp
illustrated by Hannes Bok

Contents

CHAPTER ONE - The Crusading Alans
CHAPTER TWO - The Great God Ng
CHAPTER THREE - Hostages on Ala
CHAPTER FOUR - Specimens
CHAPTER FIVE - Too Dangerous to Live
CHAPTER SIX - Escape
CHAPTER SEVEN - The Fatal Paradox

-

The Alans looked like so many comic, good-natured Mickey Mice, but they had the brains of a dozen Einsteins, and their good nature had some curious twists!

-

CHAPTER ONE - The Crusading Alans

	WILLARD BUTLAND did not yet know about the Alans as he surveyed Antonio's with riotous distaste. The proprietor had called the restaurant that to distinguish it from the seven Manhattan restaurants named Tony's. Butland would have called the place a den of iniquity—or perhaps a sink of iniquity; more picturesque—except for the fact that the word "iniquity" was, to his lay friends and acquaintances in the States, a comic one. This fact distressed Willard Butland. To him, iniquity was not at all a light matter. He often wrestled with his soul on the question, to why resolved: that is was unreasonable to spend his young life carrying the gospel to the heathen of India when so many of his godless fellow-Americans were in obviously greater need of it.

	For instance, he thought, coughing from the smoke of the vile weed, there was his cousin Rex Piper across the table. Rex Piper was tall, thin, and dark, whereas Willard Butland was of medium height, plump, and sandy, with adolescent freckles lingering on a stub-nose of the kind one sees on funny-paper characters. Rex Piper would have called Antonio's a joint or dive, though the place with its orderly clientele and handsome modern furnishings did not deserve such contumely.

	Rex Piper looked up from his highball and said: "Hi, Kitty!"

	A tall, professionally good-looking brunette came over and sat down. She said: "Hello, Rex." She looked at Willard Butland's glass of milk and added: "So I'm not the only milk-drinker. Order me one too, Rex darling."

	Piper introduced his cousin to Miss Kitty Blake. He added in a stage-whisper: "Her name's really Ophelia but people make too many jokes about it."

	Butland frowned in honest puzzlement. "I think Ophelia's a pretty name, and I don't see how anyone could make a joke out of it." He said hopefully to the girl: "You don't drink?"

	"No. I'm in the stage-show at the Megapolitan, and I have to keep in shape. But just you wait till my vacation!"

	"Oh," said Butland. "I thought you might have a higher reason."

	The girl looked at him, then at Piper. She said: "Say, what is he?"

	"Will's an authority on Sin."

	"Really?" said Kitty. "That must be interesting. Mr. Butland, what kinds have you tried lately?"

	Willard Butland reddened. Piper said: "He doesn't practice Sin; at least he's never been caught at it. He tries to extirpate it. Missionary. We were arguing on the subject of Sin when you came in. You know: If God made everything, and if everything He made was good, how come Sin into God's good world?"

	"I told you," said Butland patiently, "God made man capable of choosing between good and evil, so he has a chance to earn his salvation—"

	"Good Mohammedan doctrine" said Piper.

	"Mohammedan!" said Butland. "The only good ideas those bloodthirsty heathens ever had were borrowed from Christianity—"

	Then the Alans appeared, and neither the serious missionary nor the cynical chemist nor the blithe chorine thought about Sin for some time.

-

	THE manner of the Alan's arrival was upsetting: one minute they were not there; the next they were, in a solemn black-and-white row on the unoccupied half of the red imitation-leather crescent around the table.

	The three newcomers were about the size of people, and had a similar number of most things. They had projecting, upturned noses and hairless tails. They wore shoes on their feet, gloves on their four digit-hands, and large muffs on their ears. The effect was strikingly like that of a trio of Mickey Mice.

	One of the things said: "Holl dool youl dool?"

	Butland asked the girl: "Do you see them too?"

	"I'm afraid so. Maybe we'd better ask Rex."

	"He can't help. He's been drinking."

	"Drinking!" snorted Piper. "One highball, and he calls it drinking—"

	The thing repeated: "Holl dool youl dool?"

	"Uh—very well, thanks," said Piper. "And you?"

	The thing hesitated. It unzippered a pocket in what appeared to be its skin, and brought out a small book. It leafed through this, and replied: "Very vell, I thank youl. Is this thee Earth?"

	The waiter arrived with Kitty's milk. He set it down with obsequious cordiality. He had started to leave before he took a good look at the visitors. He continued to depart, but slowly, staring back "like one who on a lonely road doth walk in fear and dread ..."

	"Is this thee Earth?" repeated the thing.

	"That's what we call it," said Piper.

	"The city of Nil York?"

	They nodded helplessly.

	The thing studied its book, and said: "We are friends. See!" It opened another pocket in itself and brought out three small objects that looked like magnifying-glasses. It handed them around. "These are for youl."

	Butland put his glass to his eye. He almost dropped the object. The glass made everything seen through it semitransparent. The partition that separated their table from the next disappeared almost; Butland could see the people at the next table, and through them to the next, and so on until people, walls and furniture merged into a dim blur. Will Butland looked sideways through the glass at Kitty Blake. He quickly looked elsewhere, and worried a little about whether that look would damage his chances of salvation.

-

	THE thing that had done all the talking asked: "Is this thee city with thee temple of Ng?" The last word was pronounced like "sing" without the "si."

	Butland asked: "Who or what is Ng?"

	Another thing, the smallest of the three, spoke up: "Ng is thee sovereign of thee ulniverse. He made thee egg from vich thee ulniverse was hatched, and himself brolke thee shell. In my humble vay I serve him—"

	"Some false god of theirs," said Butland lightly. "I'll—ouch!" He bent over and rubbed his shin and looked reproachfully at Rex Piper.

	Piper said: "Would you mind telling us who and what you are?"

	The giver of the glasses said: "I am Zrap. Ve are Alans."

	Kitty Blake said: "I thought Alans were members of a Scythian tribe whose descendants live in the Caucasus Mountains."

	"What?" cried Butland. "How would you happen to know that?"

	She turned on him. "So because I dance for a living, you don't think I know anything, Mr. Butland? Thank you, I've got a degree from Radcliffe—"

	"Here, here," said Piper. "Let's let our friends go on with their story."

	Zrap continued: "Ve are from thee planet Ala. Since in thee English language youl make Culbans from Culba and Australians from Australia, ve thought you vould understand if ve made Alans from Ala. Ve are traveling throughl thee serial ulniverses, and ve stopped at this one because ve vere told that Ng is vorshipped here. This—" He indicated the middle-sized Alan "is Vlik, whool represents our government. This—" He indicated the smallest Alan, "is Sfong. He is vot—hoo—wot—what you vould call a missionary." As they talked, the Alans' accents rapidly disappeared.

	Butland started off: "We've got enough false g—" before another kick from Piper silenced him.

	"Where's this Ala?" asked Kitty.

	"Right here," said Zrap.

	"I don't see it."

	"Of course you do not. It is in one term of the series of universes, just as the Earth is in another. We, the Alans, knol holl—know how to pass from each term to the next. The natives of the different terms are often surprised to see us."

	Kitty asked: "Is Zrap your full name, Mr. Zrap?"

	"No, it is Zrap Hlef Pfiln Gofalt Rim Byelning Vrulk Hsingong Gzhipnik Srolb Ngulp Bvolndam Ringgup. That is a short name where we come from. Now, if you please, will you lead us to your Senator?"

	The people frowned. Piper said: "Our senator? We've got two, Murray and Dahl, but they're not—"

	Zrap continued unruffled: "We mean, the head officer of the Earth."

	Piper answered: "No such thing. There were one or two guys who thought they'd like to be, but they're dead."

	"You mean here is no one head officer of the planet? Then we will see the one who is head of this political unit."

	Kitty said: "I'll have to leave; the next floor-show goes on pretty soon."

	"No," said Zrap softly. "You will not leave, madame." And the Alan looked at the girl. Kitty sat where she was. An expression of horror came over her face.

	"Say," said Piper belligerently, "You can't—" The eyes were turned on him and on Butland. Willard Butland felt a fearful terror steal over him: a deadly, choking, nauseating fear that was all the worse for not being fear of any particular thing. After a few agonizing eras it left him.

	Piper said feebly: "The government's in Washington."

	"Then," purred the Alan, "you will take us to Washington."

-

CHAPTER TWO - The Great God Ng

	THEY rose and paraded out, all six.

	The Alans attracted much attention. Willard Butland mentally went over several theories to account for his experiences. The most promising one seemed to be that there was a personal devil after all, and these were-his agents.

	Near Antonio's stood the Megapolitan Theater. Along the nearest wall of the theater was a row of bronze frames containing advertisements of current and coming attractions.

	From one of these beamed the face of Mickey Mouse, who had entertained the old and young of five continents for nearly a century.

	The Alans saw Mickey and stopped, chattering among themselves and saying "Ng! Ng!" Zrap told their escorts: "This must be the temple of Ng that one of our intra-universal explorers reported! We must go in at once to pay our respects, and see how nearly correct his worship is."

	In they went. Butland fumbled for ticket-money, but the Alans urged him on. They walked up to the ticket-taker, who looked horrified but did not demand tickets, and in.

	The Alans did not seem to mind being stared at. One of those who stared remarked:

	"Say, ain't that a wonderful piece of makeup? You'd think they really was Mickey Mice!"

	When they had been seated for some minutes, Sfong the missionary said: "It is not seemly to use a temple of Ng for frivolous entertainment. I see where you poor creatures will afford a fertile field for our activities."

	The Alans were silent until the animated cartoon appeared. Then they bounced out of their seats crying "Ng! Ng! Ng!" They pushed out to the aisle, threw themselves prone, and went through that diabolical exercise which the U. S. Army misleadingly calls the "leaning rest"; in other words, a series of pushups.

	When they had completed these they rose. Sfong said loudly: "What is the matter, people? Why do you not do obeisance to the great lord Ng?" People shushed them, and ushers came in to eject them. The first ushers went cringing away under the impact of their unexplained power to inspire fear. But the power would not, apparently, work on many ushers at a time. And there were plenty of ushers...

	The picture went off and the lights on. Zrap said something in his own language to the other Alans, and they ceased their resistance.

	The ticket-taker pointed out Kitty Blake, Piper, and Butland, who tried to look inconspicuous. They were ordered to come along.

	It was Willard Butland's first ride in a paddy wagon. He sat on the hard, narrow seat with his head in his hands. Piper told him to cheer up. Butland moaned: "But me—of all people—"

	The Alans were quite composed. Sfong said in a kindly tone: "Do not fear, it was not your fault. It was the will of Ng. All will be well. But still I do not understand the customs of your people, to display such heathenish indifference to a cinematic representation of Ng."

	Piper tried to explain that Mickey Mouse had been invented many decades before by a man named Disney, and that the character had no theological connotations.

	This seemed to perplex the Alan missionary more than ever.

-

	THE desk sergeant at the police station showed incredulity when confronted by the Alans, and more when they gave their names and origin. He looked them over carefully and called the zoo. The director of the zoo arrived, saw, and refused to take any responsibility for the Alans. The desk sergeant then called the commissioner. The commissioner called the mayor. The mayor called the President of the United States. The President dispatched an undersecretary of state named Wilmington Stroud to New York by airplane to look into the matter of the alleged visitors from another planet.

	By the time Wilmington Stroud arrived it was morning. Kitty Blake, Piper, and Butland were asleep on each others' shoulders.

	The undersecretary of state was a tall, baldish man with pince-nez. He faced the Alans with a sang-froid equalling their own. "How do you do," he said. "Am I to understand that you wish to communicate with the government of the United States?"

	The Alan named Vlik replied: "That is right. My Senator, the Great Black Father of the world of Ala, sends greetings to your Senator." Vlik opened a pocket in his skin and took out a small black disk, which he handed to Stroud. "This is for you. You adjust for distance with that knob, and hold the device against your ear."

	Stroud did so, then jumped. "My word! I seem to be hearing things out in the street!"

	The Alan smiled. "That is precisely what you are doing. That receiver, being set for fifty feet and aimed toward the street, hears what you would hear were you fifty feet away in that direction."

	"Amusing," said Stroud, and dropped the object in his pocket. "And now, my dear sirs, what other evidence have you to substantiate your story?"

	The Alans looked at one another. Vlik said: "That is easy. We will take you back to Ala with us."

	"Oh, now really—"

	"It will not take long. Me need merely go back to the eating-place where we broke through into this universe."

	Wilmington Stroud smiled a superior smile. "If it's as simple as all that, I'll give you chaps a chance to demonstrate."

	The police-sergeant said: "Better take those three along, Mr. Stroud. If it's a put-up job they're in on it. They was with the Mickey Mice foist."

	Back they went to Antonio's, Stroud in a luxurious State Department car and the rest in the paddy-wagon.

	A man in an apron opened the door. Two other men were cleaning the floor of Antonio's. The chairs were stacked, the tables were bare, and the restaurant— or sink of iniquity—had a cheerless air.

	The Alans found the alcove in which they had appeared. They arid the undersecretary slid themselves around the red-leather seat. The cops pushed Kitty Blake, Willard Butland, and Rex Piper toward the seat. These three protested that they did not want to go to Ala. They were forced into their places nevertheless.

	"Now," said Zrap, "we go to Ala."

-

	WHICH they did, just like that. The Alans gave no visible signal, and manipulated no visible gadgetry. There was no sound, no jar, no anything. Yet the sink of iniquity disappeared and was instantly replaced by an entirely different room, as quickly as a shift of scene in the movies. One second they had been in Antonio's; the next second they were in a circular room whose yellow walls bulged outward spherically. The room contained a table, a couple of chairs, and two more Mickey Mice.

	Butland abandoned the theory that the Alans were genuine devils. This place did not look at all like Hell. It had no visible doors or windows. It was well lighted, but no lamps or other sources of illumination were visible.

	The young missionary observed with rising alarm that his companion's color-schemes had changed in bizarre fashion. Kitty Blake's reddish-brown hair was an unpleasant olive-green, and her skin was lemon-colored.

	He said: "Miss Blake, your hair is green."

	Kitty Blake squeaked with dismay, then recovered herself. She said: "So's yours. And your eyes are purple."

	Wilmington Stroud said: "I say!" He took off his glasses and polished them. By the time he had put them back on his nose he had recovered his glacial self-possession. Rex Piper muttered something banal about going on the wagon.

	Zrap, Vlik, and Sfong talked to the two other Alans in their own language.

	Willard Butland had been moving his lips silently. He now said to his human companions: "Don't you think we all ought to pray to God?"

	Piper shrugged. "I'm afraid this is out of Yahveh's territory. Ng's the boss here."

	"Rex, you're a hopeless—"

	"Don't talk rot, you two," snapped Stroud. "Nothing's happened to us."

	"Yet," added Kitty Blake.

	Zrap addressed the quartet in English: "Friends, as we are back in Ala, my colleague Vlik outranks me. He will conduct you to the Great Black Father."

	Vlik started off. The four followed him. Vlik walked toward the curved wall, on which a thin red line denned a rectangle about the size of a door. Instead of opening anything, Vlik marched through the wall and disappeared. The others halted.

	"Go on," said Zrap. "Put your trust in Ng."

	Stroud extended a cautious finger. It went into the wall without resistance. The undersecretary followed. So did the others.

	Butland had an instant of total darkness. Then he was in another spherical room, much like the previous one. A Mickey Mouse sat behind a desk. Vlik talked into its ear. At least, the people assumed that Vlik was the one standing; the Alans all looked as much alike as a bucketful of crabs.

-

	VLIK straightened up and said: "Friends, this is Senator of Ala, Bvin Drula Vunyup Ghob Hlong Sam Dzak Hmelk Froebvet Ing."

	Stroud said coolly: "We're very much honored, I'm sure. Are we supposed to bow from the waist or stand on our heads or what?"

	"No," said Vlik. "Such punctilio is not expected of aborigines. The Senator wishes you to know that, because of our admiration for your struggle toward civilization, we have decided that you deserve a helping hand. We shall therefore establish a mission near the portal between this term of the universal series and yours, to spread the true worship of Ng among you."

	Stroud said: "You will, eh? Very kind of you. I shall have to consult my government about that, though."

	The two Alans spoke in their own language. Vlik said to Stroud: "That will be quite unnecessary. We shall establish the mission entirely with our own resources, without making any demands on your tribe for labor or materials or anything else."

	"I'm afraid you don't understand," said Stroud. "You see my country has things called laws, which determine who is allowed to enter it and under what conditions."

	More consultation. The whiskers that stuck out from the sides of the Alans' noses quivered with a suggestion of amusement. Vlik said: "If your tribal government wishes to put its official approval on our acts, it is quite welcome to do so."

	Stroud said: "My good fellow, has it occurred to you that my tribal government, as you see fit to call it, may disapprove?"

	More quivering of whiskers. Vlik said: "Disagreement between master and pupil would be unfortunate, do you not think? There is no sense in it, since we have only your best interests at heart. To convince you of this, will you step this way?"

	As they did so, wondering what was up, a section of the wall vanished, or at least became transparent. In front of them was a flat plain stretching out of sight in all directions. On it grew plants that suggested a desert: barrel-shaped spiny things. Overhead tall banks of clouds rode through a purple sky.

	"You see the plains of Ala," said Vlik. "Now watch."

	Over the rim of the horizon came a number of dots, which swiftly grew into armored vehicles. These rushed straight at the window. Some of them were small, and rode on a dozen doughnut-shaped wheels. Others were a thousand feet long, and were supported on a single huge belt or caterpillar track as wide as themselves. They swelled to huge size and vanished.

	Piper said: "Look as though they were doing a hundred. But I wonder how the big ones with the single track turn?"

	The Alans' whiskers quivered. One of the large machines rushed back into view and described a wide figure-eight, throwing up clouds of sand and broken rock.

	"Now how," said Rex Piper, "did the driver of that thing know I was going to ask that question? Are we looking at the real thing, or a movie, or what?"

	The catwhiskers trembled. Vlik said: "Look up." The sky was filled with drifting dots. These were presumably flying machines.

-

	""WHAT'S that?" asked Kitty Blake. "A Lombardy poplar? It wasn't there a minute ago." She referred to a dark column that had sprung up on the horizon. Others appeared. They became larger, and were seen to be tall slender clouds of dirt thrown up by explosions. As they came closer, the four human beings gasped at their magnitude. Any one of these explosions would have wiped a terrestrial county off the face of its earth.

	The explosions came closer until the audience flinched at each one, expecting the next to blow them up. The explosions ceased, leaving the landscape dotted with pits big enough to hold a fair-sized town.

	A vast herd of animals trickled into the picture, trotting in streams of thousands of individuals around the edges of the pits, stopping intermittently to nibble at the cactus-like plants. They were nondescript, unspectacular beasts, with blunt muzzles, mule-like ears, leathery hides, large flat feet, and long thick tails. They looked somewhat like a lizard, a bear, and a rabbit rolled into one.

	Then all at once these thousands of beasts dropped dead and melted and ran down the sides of the pits. The sight was not pleasant. When the Great Black Father saw that his visitors were on the verge of digestive upsets, the wall became opaque again.

	"You see," said Vlik, "how regrettable would be a disagreement between us."

	"I see," said Wilmington Stroud grimly. "What, besides the establishment of your mission, do you want of us?"

	Vlik spread his hands. "Practically nothing. Save perhaps some of the substance you call wood. The plants of our world are all soft-bodied, and we could use some of the harder woods of yours."

	Stroud said: "With such advanced science, I don't see why you need such an inferior material as wood."

	"Ah, that is because wood is so common on your world that you do not appreciate its properties. We shall pay for the wood, of course, with things that you lack, such as the—I suppose you would call them parascopes and paraphones; those seeing and listening devices we have shown you."

	"I'll tell my government," said Stroud noncommittally.

	"That will be fine," beamed Vlik. "This way, if you please." He walked through the wall again. When the others followed, they found themselves in a third spherical room with four couches and other furnishings. Vlik said: "Here you will remain for some days, as the portal is unfortunately in use. We shall return you to the earth as soon as possible."

	Piper and Butland looked at one another. Each had a question he wanted to ask, but Butland was too inhibited a person. As Vlik's tail w-as disappearing through the wall, Piper called: "Mr. Vlik!"

	"Yes?" The Alan's tail vanished, and his head popped through the wall. It looked like a mounted head, except for its lively speech and expression.

	"We—uh—if you're going to leave us here for some hours—"

	"Ah, I understand." Vlik pointed at the opposite side of the circular room, on whose wall at once appeared a green rectangular line. "Through there." The head vanished, leaving nothing but smooth yellow wall. Piper extended a finger. The wall was solid to the touch. He walked across the room and touched the wall within the green rectangle.

	This time his hand sank without resistance into the wall.

	"Damn clever, these Alans," said Piper.

	"Rex," said Butland, "I wish you wouldn't use such language—" His three companions gave him such withering looks that he subsided.

-

CHAPTER THREE - Hostages on Ala

	THEY explored the small room— spherical like the rest—beyond the green rectangle, and found it adequately furnished but without means of egress other than the marked-off section of wall through which they had entered.

	Piper said: "The walls turn solid or hot, whichever the Mickey Mice happen to want. And when you step through a wall you always find yourself in the room you happen to want to go to."

	"Damned convenient," said Stroud.

	Kitty Blake asked: "What are you going to do when you get back, Mr. Stroud?"

	Stroud shrugged. "Tell the President what I've seen." 

	"What'll he do?"

	"How should I know? But my notion is that we'll be very careful not to antagonize our rodent friends."

	"Why" said Butland.

	"You saw what sort of armament they have and still you want to know why!"

	Butland persisted: "But mightn't all that show they put on be just a show? Something done with a miniature set, like those prehistoric animals they have in movies about that absurd evolution theory?"

	"Absurd!" barked Rex Piper. But Stroud silenced him with a gesture.

	Stroud said: "That might be so. We have no way of telling. But it's a fair inference that if they can put on such a convincing show, their science is also capable of delivering the real thing if necessary."

	Kitty Blake said: "Mr. Butland, don't you see a parallel between the way they've treated us and the way you approach your heathens in Africa or wherever it is?"

	"Not at all," replied Butland stiffly. "I preach the true gospel, whereas these things worship a false god—"

	Stroud slapped his knee. "Of course! You've put your finger on it, Miss Blake. Our friend Butland gives the natives bits of cloth and glass to win their confidence; the Alans gave us those gadgets, which to them are no doubt just toys. Everything they've done shows that they regard themselves as vastly superior to us, with good reason."

-

	PIPER grinned at his cousin and said: "How does it feel to be on the receiving end for once, Will?"

	Butland dissembled his indignation and asked Stroud: "What's going to happen to the world?"

	Stroud smiled a thin, cold smile. "What usually happens to aborigines when more civilized people invade their country?"

	"We could fight."

	"Sure. The aborigines usually do fight. But the result is the same."

	"You think we ought to give in right at the start?"

	"What I think doesn't matter; it's what the President thinks after he's received my report. But if I were in his place, I can easily imagine deciding that giving in was better than fighting a hopeless fight."

	Butland turned to Piper, "You, Rex?"

	Piper shrugged. "Lost causes never appealed to me much,"

	"You, Miss Blake?"

	"I don't know yet."

	"Well," said Butland, "that's not how / feel about it. You can sit around and watch these heathens put up their idolatrous temples and send our peoples' souls to perdition. But I'll fight them every chance I get."

	"I wouldn't," said Stroud. "So far they've threatened us with nothing worse than missionarying and a little trade. If you cause trouble, you may give them an excuse for taking us over lock, stock, and barrel." The undersecretary got to his feet as his anger rose. "You missionary chaps cause the State Department enough headaches by sticking your noses in where you're not wanted all over the world, and getting yourselves killed. I'll be God-damned if I'll let you interfere in our very delicate relations with the people of this cockeyed world of Ala."

	That started an acrimonious argument that lasted until Kitty Blake threatened to subdue the arguers with a chair. She looked capable of doing it. She added: "Maybe it hasn't occurred to you yaps, but the Mickeys are probably listening in on all your talk."

	They fell silent. Even the glacial Stroud looked apologetic. "Speak of the devil," he muttered as Vlik stuck his head through the wall.

	"Friends," said the Alan, "I have here something wherewith you can amuse yourselves." He handed Stroud a box. "I apologize for the delay. But you will be returned to earth as soon as the portal is clear."

	Stroud opened the box. The other three crowded around. "Puzzles!" cried Kitty Blake. The box was in truth full of puzzles: interlocked rings, pieces of bent wire, and other contraptions designed to be taken apart and assembled with a minimum of speed and a maximum of exasperation.

	Stroud laughed shortly. "They're consistent. Where a southern colored woman will smear her kids' hands with molasses and give them feathers to play with, to keep them occupied, the Alans give us puzzles. Let's see how this one works." Wilmington Stroud interestedly picked up and fiddled with a bunch of metal pieces resembling bent nails.

-

	VLIK said: "Ah, friends, at last I am able to return you to your home universe. I am sorry that you have had such a boring wait. Will you follow me, please? Mr. Stroud first; Mr. Piper next."

	They jumped to their feet and lined up. Stroud noted the point at which Vlik's receding tail disappeared into the wall, and marched through. Piper followed him. Kitty Blake next in line, bumped hard into a wall that resolidified as soon as Piper had disappeared through it.

	"Damn it to Hell!" said that forthright young woman.

	"Please, Miss Blake, your language!" said Will Butland.

	Kitty Blake felt the wall to make sure it had no soft spots. Then she turned and planted her right fist in Willard Butland's eye. "That," she said, "is only a taste of what you'll get if you make any more remarks about my swearing."

	Will Butland reeled back, clapped a hand to his eye, and sat down. He felt utterly miserable; he really tried to do the right thing, and people punched him in the eye for it. It wasn't even a man who. had hit him; any man under 200 pounds Butland could handle. In India he had once beaten an obstreperous Pathan chief into a jelly before he remembered those texts about loving one's enemies, turning the other cheek, etc. In remorse he had then gone around to the hospital where the Pathan was recuperating, and proselytized the unfortunate chief until the Pathan turned Christian in self-defense.

	To add to Butland's unhappiness, he could not get out of his head his cousin Rex's remark about this universe's being out of Yahveh's territory. The Bible mentioned Heaven and Hell, but nothing about a series of parallel universes. Was or was not the same deity in charge of all of them? If not, then he was indeed lost and abandoned.

	"For heaven's sake," said Kitty Blake, "stop pacing the floor. You give me the williejitters. What's the matter with you?"

	Butland told her. She laughed. "Will, if I hadn't known you I wouldn't have believed you. Here you're imprisoned in another universe by things out of one of the late Mr. Disney's dreams, and all you worry about is whether you have an immortal soul and if so how to save it. A big strong man like you ought to be ashamed of himself."

	"What's your idea, Miss—may I call you Kitty?"

	The girl laughed. "Why Mister Butland, this is so sudden!"

	"Oh, all right, make fun of me. I can take it. What I was going to ask was, why do you think we've been left behind?"

	"Now you're talking sense. I'd say that they overheard us, and decided that you and I weren't as sold on their invincibility as the other two."

	Butland said: "They look pretty invincible to me; I just didn't want to give up without a fight." He stood up and began feeling around the wall. He said over his shoulder: "They probably have some perfectly simple system of dematerializing the walls ..."

-

	VLIK stuck his head in. "I regret, friends, that it was not possible to send you back with your colleagues. We will tend to the matter soon. Meanwhile will you come this way to the study chambers?"

	They followed him through the wall. This time they found themselves in an unusually large sphere. It was in fact a two-story sphere, divided into upper and lower hemispheres by a great yellow disk floating unsupported. Treads and handholds allowed one to climb from the lower to the upper hemisphere through the yard-wide space between the edge of the disk and the wall of the sphere.

	They climbed to the upper story, where they were met by another Alan. Vlik said: "This is Ngat, the studier. He will study you."

	Butland frowned. "You mean this is a laboratory?"

	"Of course! How stupid of me not to remember the name. This is the first time I have ever forgotten a word of a foreign language, once I had heard it." Vlik stepped through the wall and disappeared.

	Butland asked: "Do you speak English?"

	"Yes," said Ngat. "I learned it yesterday."

	"Could you tell us how we get from one of these rooms to another?"

	"I should be glad to, but there are no words in your language to express the concepts involved."

	"I don't mean the theory; I'd just like to know how to do it,"

	"It is done by a special kind of thought," said the Alan. "These objects worn over our ears amplify this thought. That is the best explanation I can give—it is like trying to explain to your pet cat how to work the locks and latches in one of your houses on earth." The creature said this without hostility. "And now may I ask you some questions?"

-

	SOME hours later Butland remarked that both interrogatees were getting hungry. Ngat exclaimed: "Of course! It is that deplorable absentmindedness of mine." Then Alan led them back to their room.

	Butland asked: "Don't you take notes?"

	"For such a short little interview? No; I remember."

	When their interrogator had gone, Kitty Blake said: "He seems like a friendly enough sort."

	Butland replied darkly: "Never trust a heathen."

	"Maybe he regards you as one."

	"Then he's ignorant."

	"Yeah? Whose world is this, anyway?"

	"Unh." Butland fell silent while he hunted down a small doubt roving about in his mind. When he had squashed the doubt, at least for the time being, he said: "Don't you see, Miss—Kitty, I mean, I can't admit any such possibility. It would mean that my whole life's work had been wasted."

	"Suppose it has been?"

	Butland squirmed. "You're not deliberately torturing me, are you? No, I won't doubt my mission. It's my duty to make this deluded denizen of another world see the truth."

	Kitty Blake said: "When I was a little girl, I used to argue with my brother. As I remember, the arguments usually ended up with one of us yelling 'it is, it is, it is,' and the other hollering 'tain't, 'tain't, 'tain't. It was good lung exercise, but it never settled anything. And most religious arguments seem to me to make just about as much sense. Goodnight." She curled up on one of the couches. Butland had an instant of scandalized feeling. Then he adapted himself to the necessities of his situation, and went to sleep on another couch.

-

CHAPTER FOUR - Specimens

	THE scientist, Ngat, called for them the next day and continued questioning. All went well until he inquired about earthly religions. Butland jumped up and gave him a hell-fire-and-damnation sermon. When he could get a word in edgewise, Ngat insisted that this would never do; Butland would have to go somewhere else so that the questioning of Kitty Blake could proceed. Butland demurred. Ngat got up and, regretfully, gave him a violent push toward the wall. Butland fell off the edge of the yellow disk that constituted the floor of the upper story of the inquisition-sphere. He threw up an arm to break the shock of hitting the wall of the sphere. But he hurtled right through. Wham!

	He was lying on the floor of the biggest sphere he had seen yet. It was divided into several stories. Each one was full of exhibits. It was evidently a museum.

	An Alan helped Butland up. It said: "Did you trip? I was expecting you, but I did not think you would arrive so precipitously."

	Butland gave up trying to figure out the rationale of this world, where nothing seemed to follow the ordinary sequence of cause and effect. He let the Alan—an assistant of some sort of Ngat—show him the exhibits in the cases.

	One series of cases held a row of things that were Alans at one end and lizardlike things at the other.

	"Evolution," said the Alan. "These are reconstructions of our remote ancestors. Do you understand?"

	"Unh." Here too, the godless delusion of evolution was held! Butland did not have the energy to argue the matter though. Suppose he asserted the world had been created in six days, as he had really believed; what would he say when his guide brought up the fact that this was another world?

	"This," said the guide as they climbed to another floor, "is an exhibit of forms of life from other terms of the universal series—of which your universe is one." There were a lot of cases, each containing a thing, sometimes with two legs and some times with many; sometimes with wings, sometimes with fins, and sometimes with tentacles. Some of them were mounted beside their skeletons, the skeleton and the mounted skin in the same attitude.

-

	THE guide pointed to a thing rather like a devil with bat-wings. "This one is from the x to the nth powerth term of the series. The planet in that term corresponding to Ala is very large, though of low density. Hence the atmospheric pressure is enormous—several hundred times that of Ala and your world, which have similar surface conditions. Since the surface gravity is not much greater than that here, while the atmosphere is much denser, a flying organism of that size is quite practical. These are an intelligent people—much more so than you of earth; they even compare in some ways with the Alans."

	Butland asked: "Is that a real specimen or an imitation made of wax?"

	"Oh, a real one of course."

	"How did he die?"

	"He was killed specially," said the Alan.

	"Oh. You mean you killed an intelligent being just to mount in your museum?"

	"But naturally! It was done painlessly; our society for the prevention of cruelty to non-Alans saw to that. Ah, I see they have moved the cases to make room for the next two specimens." So they had. There was an obvious gap.

	Butland shuddered. "Let's look at something else," he said.

	The guide showed him cases full of mechanical objects. These, he explained, were old-fashioned weapons. The planet had not had a real war in a long time, and had practically eliminated crime. Butland thought uncomfortably that if this were true, the Alans were superior. The guide said: "This one projects a ball of steel at high speed, so that it penetrates deeply into the body of any organism that it hits and kills it. There is a package of the propellant and some of the balls."

	Butland asked: "If a ball of steel from it penetrated into you, would it kill you?"

	"Undoubtedly," said the guide. Just then a siren wailed somewhere. The guide flung himself down on the floor and did pushups. When he had done ten, he looked up reproachfully at Willard Butland. "What no, obeisance to the great lord Ng?"

	"No. I serve the true God, and don't bow down to false ones."

	The Alan scrambled up. "Oh, you are very much mistaken! You will go to the place of never-ending pleasure when you die."

	"What?"

	"The place of never-ending pleasure, where bad people go."

	Butland said: "We believe in something called Hell for sinners, but nobody ever described it as a place of pleasure. It's hot. You sizzle. Where's the punishment in never-ending pleasure?"

	"You just experience pleasure without cease for a few thousand years and you'll see. We can imagine nothing more wearying. But look, even if you are of an inferior people that is barely able to reason, will you not put your faith in Ng?"

	"No," said Butland. They argued for a while. Butland had never been proselytized, but he gave a good theological account of himself.

-

	THEN he remembered the arguments wherewith Rex Piper always used to upset him.

	He said: "You say that Ng is omnipotent?"

	"Yes," said the Alan.

	"And omniscient?"

	"Yes."

	"And all-good?" 

	"Yes."

	"And he made everything?" 

	"Yes."

	"But still evil exists?" 

	"Y-yes,"

	"Well, who made the evil, then?"

	The Alan was stumped, as Butland had been on previous occasions. The Alan fidgeted nervously. Finally he threw himself down on the yellow floor, kicking his heels and wailing in his own language.

	"What are you saying?" asked Butland.

	The Alan left off his wailing long enough to translate. These were an indomitably polite race. "I was begging Ng's pardon for having doubted him! This is terrible! Nobody ever brought up that point of yours before! I must go to our learned doctors, to have the truth expounded!"

	"You'd better take me back to my room first."

	The Alan did so. Kitty Blake had already returned. Butland told her what had happened to him. He added: "If I ever gambled, I'd bet you that we're the next two specimens to go in their museum."

	"That sounds likely, Will. When do you suppose they'll kill us?"

	"I suppose when they've finished questioning us. There won't be anything malicious about it."

	"Maybe we can stall; keep the questions going."

	During the following days they practiced the technique of stalling on the unfortunate Ngat; speaking slowly, digressing widely, and holding interminable arguments with each other over trivial points.

-

CHAPTER FIVE - Too Dangerous to Live

	ONE day Butland propounded to Ngat the question that had so upset Ngat's assistant. Ngat sat motionless for a long while. Then he said: "You must excuse me for the rest of the day. I do not feel well. I will take you back to your room." 

	Back in their room they found Rex Piper awaiting them. They threw themselves upon him; Kitty hugged him and Butland wrung his hand. Then they saw that he looked very serious.

	"What's happened in our world?" asked Butland.

	"Plenty." Piper told them how the religion of Ng was advancing by giant strides. "These Alans have got every earthly preacher, salesman, advertising man, or what have you licked in matters of mass psychology. They give away tons of junk to get worshippers to come around. They hold a kind of bingo game. They use colored lights and smells and music."

	"Aren't they under any sort of control?"

	"No; we don't dare say boo, after that little military demonstration they put on. Already they've got a tenth of the people of New York City converted. They've installed a kind of siren in the tower of the Empire State Building, in charge of one of their priests of Ng. Every time the priest gets inspired he yanks the cord, and the siren goes off, and all the converts in the city drop what they're doing and do pushups."

	"That must be tough on the rest of you," said Kitty Blake.

	"It is, especially when the convert is the motorman on a train, for instance. And—you know five is their sacred number? They won't let us sell anything for five cents or five dollars or any multiple thereof. Nickels are holy, and the priests of Ng wander down Fifth Avenue collecting them with those little gadgets that motormen on the Fifth Avenue busses used to snatch our dimes with." He turned to Butland. "You really ought to be there, Will. You'd know what your poor heathen feel like when you get to work on them."

	"What else is there?" asked Butland.

	"Oh, they think our marriage-customs are most immoral. They haven't figured out new ones for us yet, but they will. The trouble is that we have only two sexes, while they have three."

	Kitty Blake said: "You mean like ants, male, female, and neuter?"

	"No; three honest-to-God sexes. I'll tell you about it when Will's not around; I don't want to shock him. How's he been behaving?"

	"So good it hurts," said Kitty Blake. "Not one little pass has he made."

	"Okay. Your father will be waiting at the portal with a shotgun on your return, but I'll go ahead and explain things. By the bye, do you mind if I speak to Will alone?"

-

	THE girl went through the wall at the point marked by the green rectangle. Rex Piper pulled out an automatic pistol. His face got very tense and serious, and he said: "I'm sorry, Will, damned sorry, but I've got to kill you."

	"What?" yelped Butland, jumping up.

	"Kill you, I said. I hate to do it, but—"

	"You're crazy!"

	"Not at all. The President of the United States himself ordered me to. We feel that—"

	"Then he's crazy too!"

	"—you're too conscientious. With your profound convictions you'll make trouble with the Alans; try to interfere with their damned Ng or something, and they'll take it out on the poor earth. You're too dangerous to be left in their hands. And since we can't rescue you ..." Piper raised the pistol.

	Butland, backing away from the menacing muzzle, tripped on the nearest couch and fell backward. The shot missed him and flattened itself against the yellow wall. Butland scrambled to hands and knees. The couch hid him from Piper temporarily. He tugged at it. It was light. He picked it up and ran at his cousin, holding the couch for a shield. The pistol roared again, but as Piper was unable to see the upper part of Butland's body the shot went through the couch and missed Butland. Butland slammed the couch down on top of Piper, crushing his lanky cousin to the floor.

	A fist holding the pistol stuck out from under the couch. Butland grabbed at the pistol. It went off; the slide scorched and bruised his hand. He shifted his position to kick the hand. He kicked the pistol out of it, but in shifting he took enough weight off Piper for the latter to get his knees under him. Piper heaved both Butland and the couch off himself.

	They both got to their feet and swung. Butland landed the first real punch, on Piper's nose. Piper staggered and ran into a clinch. That was an error; Butland picked him up and slammed him down on the floor with terrific force.

	When Rex Piper came to, Will Butland was standing over him with the pistol in his hand. "Get up, damn your soul," said the missionary.

	Piper shook his head. "What did you say?"

	"I said get up, damn your soul."

	"Did you say damn, Will?"

	"You're damn right."

	Piper shook his head some more. "I still don't believe it. You must have dropped me on my head when you threw me." Piper mopped his nosebleed with his handkerchief. "I think you loosened one of my teeth. But it was worth it, if I've lived to hear you say 'damn'. What's come over you?"

	"I've decided that you're right about this being out of the Lord's territory. Or maybe I'm just mad about the treatment the world hands out to those who try to save it. Anyway, from now on I'll do what I think best, whether it agrees with the books or not. Get up."

	Kitty Blake stuck her head through the door. "Have you boys finished—Rex! Your nose! What's going on?"

	Will Butland told her. He finished: "Are you on my side?"

	"I—I suppose so—though I can't believe Rex would hurt a fly, let alone shoot—"

	"I wouldn't hurt a fly, but Will's not a fly," said Piper.

	Butland snapped: "Do you want to stay here till they mount you in the museum, Kitty?"

	"Of course not. But how—"

	"I have an idea of how these Alans' minds work, even if they are cleverer than we. For one thing, having no crime to speak of, they won't know how to defend themselves against it. Kitty, you take this gun and cover Rex while I catch some sleep. Shoot him if he moves toward you."

-

	WHEN Ngat appeared for the next interrogation, Butland was twirling the pistol on his forefinger. He asked if Rex Piper might go along. Ngat said certainly, Piper was an honored guest of the Senator, who was sorry to have had to lodge him in the old jail while a new room was being blown—"

	"This is the jail?" burst out Kitty Blake.

	"Why yes; or it was before we got rid of crime."

	"Most comfortable jail I was ever in," said Piper.

	"Is that so?" said Ngat. "Strange; an Alan would find it horribly uncomfortable. Of course non-Alans are different. Let us proceed to the interrogation. By the way, Mr. Butland, what is that black object you are carrying?"

	"A perfume sprayer," said Will Butland. It was the first deliberate lie he had told in fifteen years.

	"Ah, I understand. Now let us resume our questioning. This should be the last day thereof."

	"But," cried Kitty Blake, "there's lots of things about the earth that we haven't told you yet!"

	"True, but those things either are not important or can be inferred from what you have told us. Let us—"

	Butland interrupted: "What's going to happen to us starting tomorrow?"

	"You will be turned over to another examiner, who will undertake the study of your somatic characteristics. But do not be afraid; everything will be done to make your last hours painless. Now let us proceed—"

	Butland shouted: "You can't do that! I'm a servant of the Lord, not of your imaginary Ng either, and if you kill me you'll roast forever in Hell—"

	"I insist, Mr. Butland, that you contain yourself. Otherwise I shall send you to the museum again."

	"—with devils dancing around and poking you with red-hot pitchforks, along with the other unrepentant sinners—"

-

CHAPTER SIX – Escape

	AGAIN that push, that fall through the wall of the sphere, and that landing on the floor of one of the stories of the museum sphere. Butland, as he picked himself up, remembered vaguely speculative talk from Rex Piper about multidimensional space-manifolds and other scientific fantasies—Butland had had no great faith in science, since it so often disagreed with Holy Writ. The Alan city must involve a multi-dimensional manifold or something. Otherwise how was it that one passed from one sphere instantly to another without experiencing any intermediate stages?

	The curator, or whatever he was, was there again. He said cheerfully: "Back again, I see. We shall take up where we left off last time."

	"Oh no we shan't" said Butland, pointing his pistol. "You remember those old-fashioned projectile weapons you showed me? Well, this is a thing of that sort. If you don't want to have a small blob of metal penetrate your body at high speed, raise your hands."

	Instead of complying, the Alan argued: "That device does not look like one of ours. How do I know that you are telling the truth, not being an Alan and therefore incapable of lying?"

	Butland fired at one of the cases. As the echoes of the shot died down, he pointed out the two holes the bullet had drilled in the case.

	Another Alan appeared, and made noises that evidently constituted a question as to what was going on. Butland moved to cover both the creatures, and said to his acquaintance: "Explain it to him, and tell him that if he doesn't put his hands up too he'll be—ah—plugged, I think the slang term is."

	The curator, whose name was Zvelk, did so, meanwhile raising his own hands. His colleague started to obey, then bolted for and dove through the wall of the sphere.

	Butland fired, but too late; the wall had resolidified.

-

	BUTLAND grabbed the skinny fore-arm of his remaining Alan. He felt a tremor of the terror that Alans could instill by some unknown means. "Turn it off!" he grated, digging the pistol into what would have been the Alan's ribs if he had had ribs. The Alan complied. Butland continued: "You're not going to get away like that! What was that you said about Alans being unable to lie?"

	"It is t-t-true," yammered the Alan, who was dithering with fright and indecision. "Our chromosomes were treated many generations back, when we abolished crime, to make lying impossible."

	"That's just fine. Now, answer some questions. Where did your friend go?"

	"To get help."

	"How long should it take him?" 

	"He should be back any time now."

	"Can you take me to a place where he won't find us?" 

	"Y-yes."

	"All right, do so. I'm hanging on to you, so don't try anything unrighteous."

	The Alan led Butland through the wall to a small dwelling-sphere, which he explained was his own quarters—or rather, those of him and his two spouses, the terms "wife" and "husband" having no exact equivalent in the triangular Alan marital relationship. The spouses would be out for some time.

	"All right," said Butland, "explain about that portal."

	"I do not know the details—"

	"Then explain what you do know." Butland poked his prisoner with the pistol.

	"Are you familiar with the universal series?"

	"Mmm—yes and no; I've heard about it but I don't understand it."

	"It is an equation that defines the relationship of the parallel universes, each universe corresponding to one term of an infinite series. The portals between them correspond to the operative signs—"

	"What?"

	"You know, the things like plus and times, though in intra-universal mathematics you do not add or multiply. You use operatives meaning, as nearly as I can translate, before-inside-perpendicular, or after-among-rotated-with. As I was saying, the portals correspond to the operatives of the equation; you pass through them from one universe to another."

	"Any other?"

	"Any other on your pseudoplane. To get to another pseudoplane one must pass to the metacenter of hyper-rotation of one's own pseudoplane, and thence—"

	"Here, here, stop the math. Get back to how you use the portal."

	"One picks a universe where the corresponding portal is just above the ground-level; if the other side of the portal is below ground, it is choked with rock and cannot be opened. Then one gravitizes one's not-inertia—" 

	"One's what?"

	"One's not-inertia; you have no exact word—"

	"Never mind, I think I have what I want. Take us to Ngat's office."

-

	NGAT was interrogating Kitty Blake when Zvelk and Butland popped through the wall. The latter explained to the startled scientist about the damage that could be wrought by bits of metal traveling at high velocity. Ngat took the hint and raised his hands.

	Rex Piper burst out: "You crazy fool, the President was right. I should have bumped you off without warning."

	"Too late for that. Put your hands up too. No, first grab all those little round cases. They're textbooks, aren't they? Kitty, you catch hold of Ngat, so he can't duck through one of these heathen walls." He told Zvelk: "The minute your colleague shows up with the help he went for, you take us all through the nearest wall."

	His instructions were none too soon. Six Alans burst in through the wall of Ngat's sphere. Butland fired a shot over their heads. They jumped back through the wall; then cautiously stuck the muzzles of their weapons through.

	"Come on!" said Butland. He got all his gang through the opposite side of the sphere. They burst in on a trio of Alans of assorted sexes who were making love in the curious Alan fashion.

	"Excuse us," said Butland hastily, "Zvelk, take us to your sphere." Zvelk did so. Butland said: "We're going to the portal next."

	"Suppose it is open to a world other than yours?"

	"Then you'll change the opening," said Butland firmly. "And when we pass through to the earth, you and Ngat stay behind. As soon as we're in Antonio's we're going to start shooting at any Alans in sight. Hey, Rex, have you got any more cartridges?"

	Piper handed them over, and the five individuals marched through the wall into the room containing the portal.

	The Alan in charge of the portal had just admitted another of his kind in a great hurry. This Alan wore a thing like a tropical helmet and carried a thing like a rifle. He or she or it (Butland had not yet learned to distinguish the sexes by sight) was chattering something at the Alan in charge of the portal.

	"The purple square in the middle of the floor," muttered Zvelk. They were moving into it when the six Alan pursuers also appeared in the room. They pointed their weapons.

	Will Butland seized Ngat around the waist, used him for a shield, and fired a shot at the six representatives of the law. Ngat squealed something in his own language. The armed Alans conferred for three seconds and raised their weapons.

	Ngat squeaked in English: "They are going to shoot anyway! And me with my will not made out!"

-

CHAPTER SEVEN - The Fatal Paradox

	JUST then there appeared in the portal the thing that had been the cause of the flight of the Alan with the sun-helmet. It was a feline beast the size of a tiger, with a single enormous hooked claw on each foot. It snarled and sprang. Rex Piper ducked as it whizzed over his head. The weapons of the Alans went off with one deafening crash. The beast landed among the Alans. That part of the sphere became a blur of frenetic turmoil. Butland saw a black-and-white head with its absurd ear-muffs go bouncing along the floor, shorn off by one of those sickle-shaped claws.

	Then they were in Antonio's.

	Antonio's had changed much since it had become the portal between the earth and Ala. Gone were the restaurant tables and chairs and the bar. It now looked like the waiting-room of a bus or airline terminal. The limits of the portal were marked off on the floor. There was a telegraph desk, a U. S. customs officer, a U. S. immigration officer, and a policeman.

	Butland spoke to the last of these, quickly, while the cop was still feeling for his gun: "You're a human being, aren't you? Those heathens wanted to skin us and mount us, and we just barely escaped. Don't tell 'em which way we went!" And he started for the door. Kitty was with him; Rex Piper hung back. Then the beast with the four great claws appeared. Rex yelled, jumped two feet in the air, and came down running.

	The beast ran after the fleeing trio before the others in the erstwhile sink of iniquity could react. The trio stepped up their speed to college-record figures. Hitched to a fire-hydrant on the curb was one of the Alans' vehicles, a black egg-shaped thing the size of an automobile body that simply floated in the air two feet from the ground. Butland yanked the door open.

	Piper said: "But nobody would dare steal one of these—"

	"Get in!" snarled Butland. He shot the beast as it bounded up. It did not seem to mind in the least. He bolted in after the other two, and slammed the door.

	"How do you operate this thing?" he asked.

	Piper said: "I think you just sit in the driver's seat and control it with your mind."

-

	BUTLAND tried. The egg lifted, snapped the strap that tied it to the hydrant, and rose.

	"It acts kind of logy," said Piper.

	Kitty looked out one of the windows and screamed. "Look! No wonder it's logy!" A long furry tail swished back and forth across the window. The beast was on the roof.

	"Up high and then do a barrel-roll!" cried Piper. Butland did the best he could. Slowly the egg rose, until New York was an irregularly-shaped pincushion of skyscrapers below. Then he gripped the sides of his seat and imagined a roll. Over they went. The feline, with a despairing scream, came loose and plunged toward the scattered clouds below.

	"Where now?" asked Piper.

	Butland imagined that they were going to Washington, D. C. At once they were on their way to Washington. Butland said: "We're going to call on the President. Say, what time is it?"

	"About seven A. M.," said Kitty Blake.

	"Good. We'll catch him at breakfast."

-

	THE evening of that day, every Alan in and around New York City had been stopped by an F.B.I, man and asked the following questions: "You believe that Ng created everything?" "Yes." "And that he is all-good and all-powerful and all-knowing?" "Yes." "And that everything he did was good?" "Yes." "But that evil exists?" "Oh, yes indeed." "Well then, who created this evil?"

	Whereupon the Alan, after puzzling for some minutes, would throw a mild fit and dash off to the portal, to return to his home world for instruction on how to handle this unprecedented question.

	Butland, Piper, Kitty Blake, and the immigration officer checked the Alans off as they departed. They came in such a stream that they made a line reaching into the street.

	"... two thousand forty-nine, two thousand fifty, two thousand fifty-one, two thousand fifty-two, two thousand fifty-three, and I think that's all," said the immigration officer.

	An Alan burst out of the portal. "What has been going on here?" he cried. "For hours our people have been coming back so fast we have been unable to get through from the other side."

	Butland gave the signal, and the huge concrete-mixer was backed up to the door of Antonio's. He cautioned the Alan: "Better get back to Ala quick. We're going to close the portal."

	"What? But you cannot! We will not allow that!"

	"Let 'er go!" shouted Butland. The mixer tipped, and wet concrete sluiced down a trough and spread out on the floor. Everyone in Antonio's but Butland and the Alan bolted for the door and squeezed out past the trough.

	"Stop!" screamed the Alan, wet concrete piling up around his ankles. Butland made for the door. He glanced back just in time to see the Alan, and a large gob of concrete around him, disappear. More concrete flowed into the vacant space left.

	They stood outside watching successive concrete mixers systematically fill the whole building with concrete.

-

	WHEN it was all over, after midnight, " Butland had his hand wrung by the President of the United States, the Secretary of State, Undersecretary Wilmington Stroud, the mayor of New York, Bishop Sutherland, Cardinal O'Toole, Rabbi Rosen, John Capman of the American Association for the Advancement of Atheism, and dozens more people. The President took charge personally of the books that Piper had looted from Ngat's laboratory. He said: "By the time they figure out how to open the portal with all that concrete blocking it, I hope we'll be able to meet them on more even terms. And, Mr. Butland, any time you want a job with the government, drop a line to Mr. Stroud."

	When Butland finally got back to the Y.M.C.A. where he lived, and was having his swollen right hand treated in the lounge, Rex Piper, after many humble apologies, asked: "Are you going back to missionarying, Will?"

	"Nope. You see, Rex, in the course of selling the President on that argument to upset the Alans, I incidentally convinced myself. So from now on I'm a hard-boiled materialist like you. Maybe I'll become an anthropologist, and study the backward peoples instead of sermonizing them. Or maybe I'll get an ordinary job like selling insurance."

	Kitty Blake said: "That earnest air of yours ought to be useful at that."

	"Maybe." Butland put the wrong end of a cork-tipped cigarette in the exact center of his mouth, lit it, and coughed himself blue in the face. "By the way," Kitty, one of these days I think I'll ask you to marry me."

	"Ree-ally? Why Will! But you'd better practice being a normal human being a while longer. Ask me again in six months."

	"I will. I wouldn't propose in front of my licentious cousin Rex anyhow, for fear he'd—what's the slang expression?—gum the works with his cynical remarks. As for the practice, it'll never be earlier than it is now." He caught her wrist and hauled her to him with more determination than finesse. In fact so awkward was his initial attempt at love-making that Kitty was too helpless with laughter to resist.

	Rex Piper said: "Hey, guy, you're embarrassing me. It's not decent."

	Mrs. McCullogh, the Y.M.C.A. house mother, stopped in the doorway of the almost empty lounge with a tray of tea and fixings that she was bringing the returning hero. At the sight of said hero, the tray sagged, tilted, and slid to the floor with a fearful crash of samovar, cups, saucers, lady-finger plates, sugar-bowls, cream-pitchers, and teaspoons.

	The hero did not even notice. 

The End