brain, trying to remember.

Eight hunters had been sent out to bring in a cache of rifles which Lanny's brother, Gill, had found in the rubble of Santa Barbara. It was risky business, because under the terms of the surrender treaty men were prohibited the use of all metals in the prison compounds. But the younger generation—boys like Lanny and Gill, born since the invasion—were more fiercely determined to resist the Almost-men than their elders. Armed with fifty rifles, they thought they would be strong enough to attack the Chapel of the Triangle.

The Almost-men: the children had coined the word, subtly asserting the pride of man. Yet they knew it was a semantic trick they played upon themselves. It changed nothing. The conquerors were physically identical to men; their enormous superiority was entirely technological.

As the eight hunters crept toward the ruins of Santa Barbara, through a narrow canyon, old man Barlow suddenly emerged from the brush and stood grinning at them. It was his privilege to join the hunters; any citizen of the settlement could have done so. But the younger generation hated Barlow. He was the practical man; he called himself a realist. He never allowed them to forget they were defeated, imprisoned and without weapons; he took savage delight in poking holes in their plans for resistance.

"What are you doing here?" Lanny's brother demanded.

"I came to watch the fun, Gill."

"We're going to bring back fifty rifles; that's all—"

"Right under the noses of our masters? Don't be naive."

"There's only one way the Almost-men would find out—"

Barlow snorted. "Don't think I ran to the Chapel of the Triangle and told Tak Laleen what you were up to. They don't need that sort of help from us. When are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours? We're outclassed; we're second-raters; we'll never defeat them."

From the night sky they heard the low hum of a force-field car. An opalescent sphere soared above the canyon. Gill's fist smashed into Barlow's jaw.

"So you did tell her!"

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