They had come to accept death for all, and there was only fear at the thought that some of them might live. They stared stolidly at a point just above Clyde Ellery's head.

"The climate and the atmosphere on Venus are pretty much the same as here," Clyde Ellery continued. "There is more precipitation—more rain, but not too much. The soil is rich, and will not need fertilizers for years. One half of the planet—the half towards Earth—will be ours to cultivate and govern as we please. We may take as many personal possessions with us as we wish, as long as they are free from radioactivity. There—there is—" his voice faltered, then went on—"one other requirement in accepting their help. We cannot take any equipment or literature necessary to the making of weapons of war, including atomic bombs, and the record said that any attempt to make destructive weapons on Venus will bring death to those doing it. Other than that, there will be no interference. The ships will be here within a week."

A bird chirped feebly from the branches of the apple tree, but there was no other sound. The men and women sat quietly in the grass and looked at Clyde Ellery without emotion. From farther off, the children stared in futile imitation.

"That's all," Clyde Ellery said lamely. "The ships for this area will land in the same field. Within a week." He paused, then walked toward the road. He was alone again, a leader with no followers.

By ones and twos, the others left as the sun dropped lower. No words were given, no promises made, in the leaving. No man looked to his neighbor.

It was an uneventful week. The women still cooked meals automatically, and between meals they stared endlessly through windows; the men still did a few chores or sat in the shade and stared. Here and there a man might lift his head to the skies and feel a stirring of something like hope, but then he'd see a withered plant or walk through the fields to find a dead cow and he'd go back to sitting in the shade. And it was the same all over the world, whether the man was black or yellow or white.

The same ship returned to the field on Max Carr's farm. With it were a number of other ships, larger by far. They covered the field, like strange green growths, and the earth was black from their flames.

They stood there, empty and waiting for the people to come. And come they did, without hope and with little curiosity. Still they came, walking through the dry dust, riding in Fords and 

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