He stayed on the knob till the stars were out, then moved the scope into the open and aimed it at the sky. In its narrow field of view, the stars stared coldly, unseeingly back at him. Coldly, he thought. A strange word to apply to stars. Coldly in the sense of no emotions. He wondered what emotions the invaders felt, looking at the sky, and what star or stars they'd come from. It didn't occur to him they might have come from another galaxy.

He covered the tube of his scope, shouldered it, and picked his way down the knob. Beneath the forest's dense roof, the darkness was utter, impenetrable. Shielded by jungle and the knob, he used his belt torch to find his hammock. Once in it, he activated the repellent on his belt. Its power output was low enough, it seemed highly unlikely to be noticed.

In scant minutes he slept.

He awoke to the dawn chorus of jungle birds and lemur-like "monkeys." Breakfast was like supper, except for an apple preserved "like fresh." After eating, he climbed the knob again for a brief scan of the clearing-with binoculars; they were enough for the purpose. There was little activity; too early, he supposed. Climbing back down, he shouldered his pack frame with its load of collapsible hornet traps, and set off, circling southwestward through the forest to approach the clearing's south edge.

When he was near enough to detect it, he slowed. The south edge had not been cut back at all, and was only about a quarter mile from the invaders' main building. This was by far his nearest approach. Carefully he slipped forward to the thick undergrowth of the fringe, where he lay down and slowly crawled, making no sudden move.

He'd almost reached the edge when he made out movement ahead: two aliens together, less than a hundred yards out in the clearing. Seen through the screening foliage, they seemed almost stationary. Briefly he heard a small tapping sound, then the two moved a short distance. He backed away till he couldn't see them at all, then angled toward a large tree at the very verge. Reaching the tree, he rose slowly upright, keeping the trunk between himself and the invaders.

Carefully he peered around it till he could see them again. They had something on a tripod. One of them was peering through it toward the forest-right toward him!-and he realized what they must be doing: laying out some engineering project.

He didn't notice their sidearms till one of the invaders, the one at the instrument, drew his, raising its muzzle toward him. Withdrawing his head, Morgan turned and fled into the jungle. There was no shot. How good a look had they gotten? Hardly enough to know what they'd seen, seventy or eighty yards away.

He slowed to a strong striding walk, not routing himself by the knob, glad his spying trips had gotten him into good physical shape. He'd stay away from the clearing for a while-or for good; find hornets closer to home. It had been foolish to approach so near the clearing. Perhaps he'd stay underground for a few weeks.

It was late afternoon when he reached the debris zone and headed for his bolt hole. When he stepped into its narrow irregular opening, the last thing he did was turn and look back. To see a floater hovering above the edge of green forest! They'd followed him! His heart nearly stopped, and slowly he backed into the tunnel, out of the light. There he activated the alarm, then the booby trap, then closed the door and ran down the long tunnel, activating the other booby traps as he came to them. They wouldn't bring the tunnel down, but they'd slow intruders and reduce their numbers.

The survey instrument, he realized now, had been telescopic, and the instrument man had realized what he'd seen. He'd radioed his headquarters, and a scout, no doubt on standby, had been sent up. Knowing his approximate location, it had gotten an infrared fix on him through the forest roof. They could have sent a gunship then, blasted the jungle where he was and almost surely killed him. But they'd wanted to know where he'd go. Now they knew.

Stupid! he thought as he ran. You stupid, self-destructive sonofabitch!

In little more than a minute he reached the steel door to the living area, unlocked and spun the wheel, then entered and locked it behind him. For a moment he leaned on it. Connie had heard him, and stepped into the entryway. She started to speak, perhaps to ask him how it had gone, then saw his face and stopped, eyes widening, one hand moving to her mouth.

"What?" she whispered.

He didn't answer at once, just shook his head. Setting his harness and pack aside, he got his pistol from a drawer and put it in his waistband. Connie followed, watching, seeming not to breathe.

"I was seen at the forest edge," he said quietly, "and slipped back into the jungle. I didn't think they knew what they'd seen." He put a hand on her arm. "When I got to the entrance, I turned and looked back. And saw it-a military floater hovering above the jungle's edge. They'd followed me." He stepped past her, speaking more softly now. "They'll have called for a troop carrier."

"What will we do?"

"Let them know on Terra."

She stared up at him; she was barely five feet tall.

"We don't have much time," he said. "Get Robert ready."

She nodded soberly, and followed him into what served now as the family room. Robert was at the computer, browsing star charts, unaware that anyone had entered. "Robert," she said, "it's time for you to go to work."

Her voice was wooden, but Robert's response was deeply conditioned. Already in trance, he got up, walked to the divan and lay down, folding his hands on his chest while Connie moved a chair beside him and sat. After the connections were made, Morgan began to dictate.

He'd just finished when the alarm buzzed. His final words to Terra were, "They're here." Then he stepped to the alarm and turned it off. The first booby trap was small and distant; he neither heard nor felt the explosion. "I'm done now, Connie," he said. "Waken him."

He waited while she and Robert went through the brief withdrawal ritual. Robert sat up, saw his older brother, and grinned. "Hi, Henry," he chirped. "Did you bring me any flowers?"

"No, no I didn't. But I brought you a new story." A scenario was forming in his mind even as he spoke, rooted in an ancient movie, one that had touched him deeply. Initially, in pretechnological times, it had been shot on film, and since then copied and recopied in other media.

"Sit on your computer chair," he said, "and turn off the computer." He watched Robert comply. "Now look at the screen. Keep your eyes on it, and imagine you're seeing what I tell you. Seeing it like a movie."

His order sent his brother into a near-hypnotic revery. "Do you remember where we lived in Colorado? After father died?"

Robert nodded. "Yes," he said.

"Remember the garden behind the house. With all the flowers, and the lilac bushes. Do you see it?"

He'd made it all up years before, part of an imaginary past to help bury the ugly reality. Robert's head bobbed eagerly. "I see it."

Morgan heard or felt a booby trap explode, a small, dull, distant thump. Whether the second, or the last, or one in between, he wasn't sure.

"All right. Now see mother there. Do you see her?"

"Uh huh."

"Tell me what she's wearing."

The savant didn't hesitate. As Morgan drew his pistol from his belt, Robert answered. "She's wearing her white dress with the blue and yellow flowers." He chuckled. "And she's barefoot. She used to say it let her feet be friends with the grass."

Connie choked back a sob.

Morgan raised the pistol and put the muzzle almost against Robert's head. It wavered, and he gripped it with both hands to steady it. "All right," he continued, "now you and Connie and I are going there to see her. We'll be there in just a second."