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few of us might be able to have children here and that most of us who tried to have children in this gravity would die for it?"
      "It's true," he said. "But you already knew that when you married."
      "Yes… I knew it." There was a little silence. "All my life I've had fun and done as I pleased. The human race didn't need me and we both knew it. But now—none of us can be apart from the others or be afraid of anything. If we're selfish and afraid there will come a time when the last of us will die and there will be nothing on Ragnarok to show we were ever here.
      "I don't want it to end like that. I want there to be children, to live after we're gone. So I'm going to try to have a child. I'm not afraid and I won't be."
      When he did not reply at once she said, almost self-consciously, "Coming from me that all sounds a little silly, I suppose."
      "It sounds wise and splendid, Julia," he said, "and it's what I thought you were going to say."
     
      Full spring came and the vegetation burst into leaf and bud and bloom, quickly, for its growth instincts knew in their mindless way how short was the time to grow and reproduce before the brown death of summer came. The prowlers were suddenly gone one day, to follow the spring north, and for a week men could walk and work outside the stockade without the protection of armed guards.
      Then the new peril appeared, the one they had not expected: the unicorns.
      The stockade wall was a blue-black rectangle behind them and the blue star burned with the brilliance of a dozen moons, lighting the woods in blue shadow and azure light. Prentiss and the hunter walked a little in front of the two riflemen, winding to keep in the starlit glades.
      "It was on the other side of the next grove of trees," the hunter said in a low voice. "Fred was getting ready to bring in the rest of the woods goat. He shouldn't have been more than ten minutes behind me—and it's been over an hour."
      They rounded the grove of trees. At first it seemed there was nothing before them but the empty, grassy glade. Then they saw it lying on the ground no more than twenty feet in front of them.
      It was—it had been—a man. He was broken and stamped into hideous shapelessness and something had torn off his arms.
      For a moment there was dead silence, then the hunter whispered, "What did that?"
      The answer came in a savage, squealing scream and the pound of cloven hooves. A formless shadow beside the trees materialized into a monstrous charging bulk; a thing like a gigantic gray bull, eight feet tall at the shoulders, with the tusked, snarling head of a boar and the starlight glinting along the curving, vicious length of its single horn.
    "Unicorn!" Prentiss said, and jerked up his rifle.
      The rifles cracked in a ragged volley. The unicorn squealed in fury and struck the hunter, catching him on its horn and hurling him thirty feet. One of the riflemen went down under the unicorn's hooves, his cry ending almost as soon as it began.
      The unicorn ripped the sod in deep furrows as it whirled back to Prentiss and the remaining rifleman; not turning in the manner of four-footed beasts of Earth but rearing and spinning on its hind feet. It towered above them as it whirled, the tip of its horn fifteen feet above the ground and its hooves swinging around like great clubs.
      Prentiss shot again, his sights on what he hoped would be a vital area, and the rifleman shot an instant later.
      The shots went true. The unicorn's swing brought it on around but it collapsed, falling to the ground with jarring heaviness.
      "We got it!" the rifleman said. "We——"
      It half scrambled to its feet and made a noise; a call that went out through the night like the blast of a mighty trumpet. Then it dropped back to the ground, to die while its call was still echoing from the nearer hills.
      From the east came an answering trumpet blast; a trumpeting that was sounded again from the