The hell with it; he'd worry about all that later. The attack was due
any minute, now, and there would be fleeing Commies coming up the valley
ahead, of the UN advance. He'd better get himself placed before they
started coming in on him.

He stopped thinking about the multiple mystery, a solution to which
seemed to dance maddeningly just out of his mental reach, and found
himself a place among the rocks to wait, and while he waited, he looked
over the plastileather-bound notebook. In civil life, he had been a
high school chemistry teacher, but the stuff in this book was utterly
new to him. Some of it he could understand readily enough; the rest of
it he could dig out for himself. Stuff about some kind of a carbonated
soft-drink, and about a couple of unbelievable-looking long-chain
molecules....

After a while, fugitive Communists began coming up the valley to make
their stand.

Benson put away the notebook, picked up his carbine, and cuddled the
stock to his cheek....


THE END

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| Transcriber's Note |
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| Bold text was surrounded by '+' symbols. |
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