"You were lucky, too."

Blood chuckled again.

They regarded the world, its two and a half billions ofpeople, their cities, their devices ...

After a time, the inhabitant of the forward pointspoke:

"Best two out of three?"

"All right. I am Blood. I go first.**

"... And 1 am Dust. I follow you.**

Betty White of The Saturday Evening Post suddenlysolicited a 3500-word story from me one day, so I didthis one quickly and she bought it just as quickly. ThenI asked her why she had wanted it. She told me that shehad recently had her television set turned on and wasoccupied with something which did not permit her tochange channels readily. A show called "Star Trek"came on and she watched it through and enjoyed it Shehad not known much about science fiction, she said, andshe resolved to stop by her paperback book store thefollowing day, buy a science fiction book at randomand read it. It happened to be one of mine. She read itand liked it and decided to ask me for a story. I havesince theorized that if she entered the shop and approached the far end of the science fiction rack my position in the alphabet might have had something to dowith her choice. Whatever . ..

I entered the hall, made my way forward. I had comeearly, so as to get as close as possible. I do notusually push to be near the front of a crowd. Even onthose other occasions when I had heard him, and otherpresidents before him, I had not tried for the best view.This time, however, it seemed somehow important.

Luck! A seat that looked Just right. I eased myselfdown.

My foot seemed asleep. In fact, the entire leg. ... Nomatter. I could rest it now. Plenty of time ...Time? No. Darkness. Yes. Sleep ...

I glanced at my watch. Still some time. Some otherpeople were smoking. Seemed like a good idea. As Ireached for my cigarettes I remembered that I had quit,then discovered that I still carried them. No matter. Takeone. Light it- (Trouble. Use the other hand.) I felt somewhat tense. Not certain why. Inhale. Better. Good.

Who is that? Oh.

A short man in a gray suit entered from the right andtested the microphone. Momentary hush. Renewedcrowd noise. The man looked satisfied and departed.

I sighed smoke and relaxed.

Resting. Yes. Asleep, asleep ... Yes ... You ...

After a time, people entered from the sides and took'seats on the stage. Yes, there was the governor. Hewould speak first, would say a few words of introduction.

That man far to my left, on the stage ... I had seen himin a number of pictures, always near the president, neveridentified. Short, getting paunchy, sandy hah- thinning; dark, drifting eyes behind thick glasses ... I was certainthat he was a member, possibly even the chief, of theelite group of telepathic bodyguards who always accompany the chief executive in public. The telepathic phenomenon had been pinned down only a few years ago,and since then the skill had been fully developed in but ahandful of people. Those who possessed it, though, wereideal for this sort of work. It took all the danger out ofpublic appearances when a number of such personsspotted about an audience were able to monitor the general temper of a crowd, to detect any aberrant, homicidal thoughts and to relay this information to the SecretService. It eliminated even the possibility of an attempton the president's life, let alone a successful assassination.Why, at this moment, one of them could even be scanning my own thoughts. ...

Nothing worth their time here, though. No reason tofeel uneasy.

I crushed out the cigarette. I looked at the TV camerapeople. I looked over the audience. I looked back to thepeople onstage. The governor had Just risen and wasmoving forward. I glanced at my watch. Right on time.

Time? No. Later the award. He will tell me when.When ...

The applause died down, but there was still noise, ris-ing and falling. Rolling. At first I could not place it: thenI realized that it came from outside the hall. Thunder. Itmust be raining out there. I did not recall that the.weather had been bad on the way in. I did not remembera dark sky, threatening, or—

I did not remember what it had been like outside atall—dark, bright, warm, cool, windy, still. ... I remembered nothing of the weather or anything else.

All right What did it matter? I had come to listen andto see. Let it rain. It was not in the least important. - I heard the governor's words, six minutes' worth, andI applauded at their conclusion while flashbulbs frozefaces and a nearby cheer hurt my ears and caused myhead to throb. Time pedaled slowly past as the presidentstood and moved forward, smiling. I looked at my watchand eased back from the edge of my seat. Fine. Fine.

/( seems to me that there is a gallery, with a row offaces atop crude cardboard silhouettes of people. Brightlights play upon them. I stand at the other end of thegallery, my left arm at my side. I hold a pistol in myhand. He tells me. He tells me then. The words. When Ihear them 1 know everything. Everything I am to do tohave the prize. 1 check the weapon -without looking at it,for I do not remove my eyes from the prospect beforeme. There is one target in particular, the special one Imust hit to score. Without Jerking it, but rather with arapid yet steady motion, I raise the pistol, sight for justthe proper interval and squeeze the trigger with a forcethat is precisely sufficient. The cardboard figures are allmoving slightly, with random jerkings, as I perform thisaction. But it does not matter. There is a single report.My target topples. I have won the award.

Blackness.

It seems to me that there is a gallery, with a row offaces atop crude cardboard silhouettes of people. Brightlights play upon them. I stand at the other end of the gallery, my left arm at my side. I hold a pistol in my hand.He tells me. He tells me then. The words ...

The cry of the man behind me. ... A ringing in myears that gradually subsided as the president raised hishand, waving it, turning slowly ... But the throbbing inmy head did not cease. It felt as if I had just realized theaftermath of a blow somewhere on the crown of myhead. I raised my fingers and touched my scalp. Therewas a sore place, but I felt no break in the skin. However, I could not clearly distinguish the separate forms ofmy exploring fingers. It was as if, about the soreness,there existed a general numbness. How couid this be?

The cries, the applause softened. He was beginningto speak.

I shook myself mentally. What had happened washappening? I did not remember the weather, and myhead hurt. Was there anything more?

I tried to think back to my entry into the hall, to finda reason why I did not recall the gathering storm.

I realized then that I did not remember having beenoutside at all, that I did not recall whether I had gotten^to this place by taxi, bus, on foot or by private vehicle,that I did not know where I had come from, that not onlydid I not recollect what I had had for breakfast thismorning, but I did not know where, when or if I hadeaten. I did not even remember dressing myself this day.

I reached up to touch my scalp again. As before, something seemed to be warning my hand away from the site,but I ignored it, thinking suddenly of blows on the headand amnesia.

Could that be it? An accident? A bad bash to the skull,then my wandering about all day until some cue servedto remind me of the speech I wanted to attend, then setme on the way here, the attainment of my goal graduallydrawing me away from the concussion's trauma?

Still, my scalp felt so strange. ... I poked around theedges of the numb area. It was not exactly numb... .

Then part of it came away. There was one sharp littlepain at which I jerked back my exploring fingers. It subsided quickly, though, and I returned them. No blood.Good. But there had occurred a parting, as if a portion ofmy hair—no, my scalp itself—had come loose. I wasseized with a momentary terror, but when I touched beneath the loosened area I felt a warm smoothness ofnormal sensitivity, nothing like torn tissue.