mashed out her cigarette. "The offspring of James Joyce! Aren't we lucky?" She got up. "Give me a drink."

"You've had enough," he said.

"Thanks, I'll help myself," she said, and did.

October, and then November. Py was learning to talk now. He whistled and squealed and made a bell-like tone when he was hungry. Dr. Wolcott visited. "When his color is a constant bright blue," said the doctor, "that means he's healthy. When the color fades, dull—the child is feeling poorly. Remember that."

"Oh, yes, I will, I will," said Polly. "Robin's egg blue for health. Dull cobalt for illness."

"Young lady," said Wolcott, "You'd better take a couple of these pills and come see me tomorrow for a little chat. I don't like the way you're talking. Stick out your tongue. Ah-hmm. Give me your wrist. Pulse bad. Your eyes, now. Have you been drinking? Look at the stains on your fingers. Cut the cigarettes in half. I'll see you tomorrow."

"You don't give me much to go on," said Polly. "It's been almost a year now."

"My dear Mrs. Horn, I don't want to excite you continually. When we have our mechs ready we'll let you know. We're working every day. There'll be an experiment soon. Take those pills now and shut that nice mouth." He chucked Py under the "chin." "Good healthy baby, by gravy! Twenty pounds if he's an ounce!"

Baby was conscious of the goings and comings of the Two White Cubes. The two nice White Cubes who were with him during all of his waking hours. There was another Cube, a Gray One, who visited on certain days. But mostly it was the Two White Cubes who cared for and loved him. He looked up at the one warm, rounder, softer White Cube and made the low warmbling soft sound of contentment. The White Cube fed him. He was content. He grew. All was familiar and good.

The New Year, the year 1969, arrived.

Rocket ships flashed on the sky, and helicopters whirred and flourished the warm California winds.

Peter Horn carted home large plates of specially poured blue and gray polarized glass, secretly. Through these, he peered at his "child." Nothing doing. The pyramid remained a pyramid, no matter if he viewed it through X-ray or yellow cellophane. The barrier was unbreakable. Horn returned quietly to his drinking.

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