day when you came back here with a graduating class."

"I don't forget," Billy Kasker said. "I'm even class president!" The words burst out of him as if he was still having trouble understanding what they meant.

"That's wonderful, Billy. You're accepted as one of them, but you're one of us all the time. You're in with them, you're set. You have done a wonderful job and I'm proud of you."

The glow in the native's eyes was a wonderful sight to behold. In it there showed the hope of the future for all the conquered natives of this lost planet that had once been called Earth—the faith, the sure knowledge that they would rise again ... indeed, that they were already rising.

"Thank you! But—" Billy nodded toward the body of the instructor, then spun hastily as a sound came from the rear of the shed, the Thor gun coming to focus. A trap door was rising there. Three natives were looking up from under it.

"They're all right," the brown native said quickly. "They're with us."

Three ragged men scrambled up from below. They looked at the brown native, then at the body of the instructor on the floor. A look of fierce exultation appeared on their faces. Then they looked at Billy Kasker and at the Thor gun he was holding.

"Give the Thor gun to Jim," the brown native said.

Without hesitation Billy Kasker handed the gun to the native who reached for it. Jim did everything but kiss the weapon. "God, the years I've spent dreaming of the moment when I would get one of these babies into my hands! One was all I needed."

"Don't stand there gloating, Jim—get moving," the brown native said. "Within a month I want you not only to know how a Thor gun works but to be manufacturing them by the dozens, including the large sizes. This is the gun that has been stopping us all these years—it is the gun that is going to take us out of these pig pens they call museums. Get moving!"

"Yes, sir." Jim was already gone through the trap door.

The brown native jerked off the instructor's clothes, then worked quickly but deftly with his knife. As he finished, the instructor's hand separated from the arm at the wrist.

"He said no one would ever think of doing anything like that," Billy Kasker said.

"Nobody but one of us stinking natives." The brown man removed the plasticum bracelet, began to work with the fingers of his left hand. "I've spent years learning how to throw my thumb out of joint, just getting ready for the time—"

The plasticum bracelet slipped over the collapsed thumb. It fitted very snugly on his wrist. He held it up.

"Neat, eh. This makes me one of the conquerors."

"A nice fit. But we have very little time. The group will become alarmed."

The second native began to take the instructor's body down the trap door. The brown native swiftly slipped off his clothes and donned the garments the instructor had worn.

"Ed, where's that Thor gun model? I've got to have something that looks and feels like a genuine Thor gun to turn in at the gate."

"Here it is, sir." The third native handed a gleaming replica of the Thor gun to the brown man. He slipped it into the holster. It fitted snugly.

"How do I look, Billy?"

Billy Kasker surveyed the brown native. He was remarkably changed. No longer did he look like one of the natives, he looked like a conqueror. "Just a little higher on the nose with the glasses. And maybe a little less stuffing inside the brim of the hat. But—can you carry off the part of the instructor?"

"I can carry it off or die trying," the brown native said.

"Good!" The two shook hands, then turned and went out the door. As they left, Billy Kasker saw that Ed was mopping the last remnants of the green blood from the floor.

"Perfect, down to the last detail," Billy Kasker said. "You're a genius at planning."

"You have to be a genius to stay alive. Okay, Billy. Here is where we go into our