hear human voices again.

"Come in, W3XFA. Come in, W3XFA."

No answer. None at all.

The aliens held all of Asia, most of Europe; he got a brief response from Belgium on the third day, but was unable to pick up the signal an hour later. An underground worker in an Iron Curtain country called him that afternoon—and then he went. The marauders from space covered the globe.

Haverford looked at his map. They were working in an ever-tightening ring. Soon they would be in Chicago. Then the strength of his improvised fortress would be sorely tested.

By the fourth day, he was down to just one contact—a man in upper Illinois, a ham operator out of a Chicago suburb.

"You there, Haverford?"

"I'm here. What do you hear?"

"Nothing. The aliens are everywhere. I can see them from my window, swarming in the streets. They've won, all right. Mankind is defeated."

"You can see them, eh? Must be a ghastly sight." Haverford's own window faced the back.

"It is. There must be millions of the ugly beasts, and not a human being in sight. Haverford, who ever expected it would come like this?"

"No one did. No one ever dreamed of it."

"They must breed fantastically rapidly if they can send an invasion force of this size. Imagine it, Haverford—a living tide of Lanthaii spilling out from their home world, covering all of the universe and—"

"Yes? I hear you," Haverford said.

"Something outside my door. It's them, Haverford! It's them!"

The set went dead. Haverford stared dully at it for a moment, then turned it off. There was no one else to talk to. He was alone.

He was the last survivor. Unless there was someone else, cowering in a skyscraper basement somewhere, hiding in a thick field of corn—

But the Lanthaii were methodical killers. They had set out to exterminate the human race, and—

Haverford stiffened. What was that 

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