"—so I mean to write to my man in Parliament, y'know, and ask him to plump for the legislation. It'll be a great boon for ham operators if—Lord! What's that! What's that?"

Haverford had stared at the transmitter in shocked surprise as Bentham's voice was replaced with the screeching of static, then some other sounds he did not understand, followed by a quick, sharp, repulsive clicking, and—

Silence.

"Bentham! Bentham!"

Silence.

That had been the beginning. The Lanthaii had landed, all right. The alien invaders were sweeping the world.

Haverford got the details from a news broadcast. They had come in silvery ships, hundreds of them. Thousands.

"You should have seen it," Bartirone told him, speaking in his accented English. "All over Buenos Aires, in midday—suddenly, the sky was blotted out. Ships. Silvery ships. They seemed small. They started to land."

"Have you seen the invaders yourself?"

"No. Not yet. They haven't come this far west in the city yet. But—"

The Argentinan's voice stopped. Haverford listened numbly, knowing despite himself exactly what had happened. The invaders had come.

He rose, looked around his room. He had enough food in the freezer and on the shelves to last for months. Haverford was a frugal man; by buying in quantity, he saved precious cash that was used for augmenting the radio set.

He decided to hide in his home—to seal it from the outside world, to wait. Perhaps the invaders would be driven back; perhaps Earth would fall. But he would be safe. He would not be killed in the war of conquest.

He made sure there was no way his room could be entered. Just as he was about to nail fast the bolt that held the door shut, he heard knocking.

Three sharp knocks. Haverford leaped for the bolt, drove it home, hung tensely against the door.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Mrs. Kelley," came the reply.

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