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The air was filled with barked orders.

'Hit the shelter, Pop. Better get going. You can't stand there, you know.'

Ullen turned to the guard who addressed him and slowly brought his wandering thoughts to bear upon the situation.

'I am sorry, Eardman - but I cannot move very fast on your huge world.' He tapped one crutch upon the marble flags beneath. 'Dings are so heavy. If I were to crowd in wid de rest, I would be crushed.'

He smiled gently down from his lank height, and the guard rubbed a stubby chin, 'All right, pop, I can fix that. It is tough on you Marsies at that. - Here, hold those crutches up out of the way.'

With a heave, he cradled the Martian, 'Hold your legs close to my body, because we're going to travel fast.'

His bulky figure pressed through the line of Earthmen. Ullen shut his eyes as the rapid motion under supernormal gravity stirred his stomach into rebellion. He opened them once again in the dim recesses of the low-ceilinged shelter.

The guard set him down carefully and adjusted the crutches beneath Ullen's armpits, 'O.K. Pop. Take care of yourself.'

Ullen took in his surroundings and hobbled to one of the low benches at the near end of the shelter. From behind him came the sombre clang of the thick, leaden door.

The Martian historian fished a worn tablet from his pocket and scribbled slow notes. He disregarded the excited babble that arose about him and the scraps of heated talk that filled the air thickly.

And then he scratched at his furrowed forehead with the stub end of his pencil, meeting the staring eyes of the man sitting next to him. He smiled abstractedly and returned to his notes.

'You're a Martian, aren't you?' His neighbor spoke in quick, squeaky tones. 'I don't like foreigners much, but I've got nothing special against Marsies. These Veenies, now, they -'

Ullen's soft tones interrupted him. 'Hate is all wrong, I dink. Dis war is a great annoyance - a great one. It interferes wid my work and you Eardmen ought to stop it. Is it not so?'

'You can bet your hide we're going to stop it,' came the emphatic reply. 'We're going to bash their planet inside out -and the dirty Veenies with it.'

'You mean attack deir cities like dis?' The Martian blinked owlishly in thought, 'You dink dat would be best?'

'Damn it, yes. It -'

'But look.' Ullen placed a skeleton finger in one palm and continued in gentle argument. 'Would it not be easier to get de ships demselves by de fall-apart weapon? - Don't you dink so? Or is it dat de Venus people, dey have de screens?'

'What weapon, did you say?'

Ullen ruminated carefully, 'I suppose dat isn't de name you call it by - but I don't know about weapons, anyway. We call it on Mars de "skellingbeg" and dat means in English "fall-apart weapon." Now you know?'

There was no direct answer unless a vague under-breath mutter could be called one. The Earthman pushed away from his companion and stared at the opposite wall in a fidget.

Ullen sensed the rebuff and shrugged one shoulder wearily, 'It is not dat I care much about de whole ding. It is only dat de war is a big bodder. It should be ended.' He sighed, 'But I don't care!'

His fingers had just begun manipulating the pencil once more in its travels across the open tablet on his lap, when he looked up again.

'Tell me, please, what is de name of dat country where Hitler died. Your Hard names, dey are so complicated sometimes. I dink it begins wid an M.'

His neighbor ripped him open with a stare and walked away, Ullen's eyes followed him with a puzzled frown. And then the all-clear signal sounded. 'Oh, yes,' said Ullen. ' Madagascar! Such a silly name!'

Johnnie Brewster's uniform was war-worn now; a bit more wrinkled about the neck and shoulders, a trance more worn at knees and elbows.

Ullen ran his finger along the angry scar that ran the length of Johnnie's right fore-arm, 'It hurts no more, Johnnie?'

'Nuts! A scratch! I got the Veenie that did that. He's chasing dreams in the moon now.'

'You were in de hospital long, Johnnie?'

'A week!' He lit a cigarette, pushed some of the mess off the Martian's desk and seated himself. 'I've spent the rest of the time with my family, though I did get around to visiting you, you see.'

He leaned over and poked an affectionate hand at the Martian's leathery cheek, 'Aren't you going to say you're glad to see me?'

Ullen removed his glasses and peered at the Earthman, 'Why, Johnnie, are you so uncertain dat I am glad to see you, dat you require I should say it in words?' He paused, 'I'll make a note of dat. You silly Eardmen must always be telling each oder dese simple dings - and den you don't believe it anyway. On Mars -'

He was rubbing his glasses methodically, as he spoke, and now he replaced them, 'Johnnie, don't you Eardmen have de "fall-apart" weapon? I met a person once in de raid shelter and he didn't know what I was talking about.'

Johnnie frowned, 'I don't either, for that matter. Why do you ask?'

'Because it seems strange dat you should have to fight so hard dese Venus men, when dey don't seem to have de screens to stop it wid. Johnnie, I want de war should be over. It makes me all de time stop my work to go to a shelter.'

'Hold on, now, Ullen. Don't sputter. What is this "fall-apart" weapon? A disintegrator? What do you know about it?'

'I? I know nodding about it at all. I dought you knew - dat's why I asked. Back on Mars, in our histories, dey talk about using dat kind of weapon in our old wars. But we don't know nodding about weapons any more. Anyway, dey're so silly, because de oder side always dinks of someding which protects against it, and den everyding is de same as always. - Johnnie, do you suppose you could go down to de desk and ask for a copy of Higginboddam's "Beginnings of Space Travel?"'

The Earthman clenched his fists and shook them impotently, 'Ullen, you damned Martian pedant - don't you understand that this is important? Earth is at war? War! War! War!'

'Well, den, stop de war.' There was irritation in Ullen's voice. 'Dere is no peace and quiet anywheres on Eard. I wish I had dis library - Johnnie, be careful. Please, what are you doing? You're hurting me.'

'I'm sorry, Ullen, but you've got to come with me. We're going to see about this.' Johnnie had the feebly protesting Martian wedged into the wheel-chair and was off with a rush, before he had finished the sentence.

A rocket-taxi was at the bottom of the Library steps, and together chauffeur and Spaceman lifted the chair inside. With a comet-tail of smoke, they were off.

Ullen moaned softly at the acceleration, but Johnnie ignored him. ' Washington in twenty minutes, fellow,' he said to the driver, 'and ignore the signal beams.'

The starched secretary spoke in a frozen monotone, 'Admiral Korsakoff will see you now.'

Johnnie wheeled and stamped out the last cigarette butt. He shot a hasty glance at his watch and grunted.

At the motion of the wheel-chair, Ullen roused himself out of a troubled sleep. He adjusted his glasses, 'Did dey let us in finally, Johnnie?'

'Sh!'

Ullen's impersonal stare swept over the rich furnishings of the room, the huge maps of Earth and Venus on the wall, the imposing desk in the center. It lingered upon the pudgy, bearded figure behind this desk and then came to rest upon the lanky, sandy-haired man at his side.

The Martian attempted to rise from the chair in sudden eagerness, 'Aren't you Dr. Doming? I saw you last year at Princeton. You remember me, don't you? Dey gave me at dat time, my honorary degree.'

Dr. Thorning had advanced and shook hands vigorously, 'Certainly. You spoke then on Martian historical methods, didn't you?'

'Oh, you remember. I'm glad! But dis is a great opportunity for me, meeting you. Tell me, as a scientist, what would be your opinion of my deory dat de social insecurity of de Hit-lerian Era was de direct cause for de lag -'