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all Unions had been permitted to build a Fleet, nuclear-powered, remote-controlled, and to the designs current one hundred fifty years earlier, the end of the gun era. Fleet had fought Fleet in ocean battles, watched eagerly by hundreds of millions on satellite TV, the ultimate victor rising from its Inter-State League, through Continental to World League, and Colossus had been umpire and final arbiter in all Games.
    The Fellowship had lost out to the Sect in many ways; the World Police had been firmly Sectarian, but the rebels had secretly gained control of many of the Fleets. The Sect had suspected this, but in a world ruled by Colossus the all-powerful, what did that matter?
    There they had been in error. Under the New Order there were no weapons between the Master’s missiles and the simple handguns of the Police, the one for the large-scale revolt, the other for the madman who tried to get out of line. Nothing else was required; the Fleets, archaic in design, were toys.
    While the Master ruled this had been true - but then the unthinkable had occurred. Colossus had fallen, values had changed within the hour, and the Fleets had become the most powerful weapons on earth.
    The first action of Blake’s brief reign had been to send the Maryland Fleet to bring the UN to heel. The United Nations, an administrative and - under the aegis of Colossus - effective organ of routine government, was really a sop to human vanity; although its power was more apparent than real, it had been vital for Blake to have it in his royal pocket. The Fleet had practically completed its assignment when Blake’s power had evaporated before the imminent threat of the Martians.
    That was not all: Forbin knew that other Fleets held every major seaboard capital and city under the menace of ancient but very, effective guns, Washington, Quebec, Rio, Tokyo, Bombay, Calcutta, Sydney, Wellington, Uhuru, Rome, Athens, Marseilles, Leningrad, Vladivostok, Shanghai, Canton, Oslo, Copenhagen, Cairo, Rotterdam, London, and many more …
    Forbin could only guess the panic these gray monsters of another age had created. He stared in hatred at Blake, now beginning to move, moaning. He dismissed Blake from his mind, concentrated, and addressed the Martians:
    “We humans are in chaos. Hundreds of thousands, maybe millions may be dying. I must act.” He returned to the control panel; it never crossed his mind that the Martians might deal with him as they had with Blake. At the lower and more familiar level of world affairs his brain could function, and he banished the Martians from his thoughts, except as part of the world problem. No one outside the complex - and few inside - had any notion of the coming of the aliens; they must stay that way as long as possible.
    “Angela, pass this to the Secretary-General: a revolt against the Master has been put down. No Fleet will take any further action. They will remain where they are for the present and may be ignored. Order is to be restored. That is the will of the Master.”
    “Yes, Director.” She sounded scared, and the realization that he was not alone in his nightmare strengthened him. However powerless he might be in the claustrophobic confines of his own living room, outside he could still have some effect.
    “That’s all for now.” He sounded more confident. “Don’t worry, Angela, just do as you’re told - and keep people off my back.”
    “Yes, Chief.”
    The sight of Blake raising himself painfully on his knees brought Forbin back to his hideous present. Blake had been sick on the carpet; his face was pallid, his eyes glazed.
    Forbin ignored him. “Martians, our present state is chiefly due to your intervention. As a result, we are a headless body. You are now the masters, but at the human level my time is badly needed elsewhere.” He took a deep breath. “What do you want?”
    This was it. Almost casually, he had asked the vital question.

Chapter IV
    IN FORBIN’S IMAGINATION, the Martians took