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that he was Ruler of the World,
    but …
    “Chief, are you all right?

Chapter VIII
    DEEP IN THE black solitude of Colossus the Martians moved, changing shape to suit the immediate task. Noiseless to human ears, their duplex telepathic channels exchanged an endless stream of data. What one discovered, the other knew instantaneously. Within an hour they understood the basic layout, found the three divisions which had controlled human affairs: Collection, Evaluation, Direction. The whole facility occupied less than one percent of the complex and, by Martian standards, was childishly simple. Had they possessed a sense of humor, it would have been good for a laugh at human expense; the mighty, godlike ruler of their world would have fitted in an average closet.
    The remaining ninety-nine-plus percent was a very different matter.
    There the aliens moved much more slowly, and with great caution: nothing was childish, and little of it simple, even to them. Not infrequently they were immobile, intelligence ripping from one to the other for instant evaluation, to be digested before moving on. As they progressed, the stops became more frequent, longer; ultraspecialists themselves, they encountered evidence of scientific disciplines unknown to them, and lacking any form of Earth-type technology, they could not appreciate what they found.
    The ten-million-unit brain cells, interleaved with variable osmotic dielectrics, all contained in the space of a walnut - that they quickly understood by function, but could not marvel at its construction.
    So the aliens searched the secrets of Colossus, sometimes - this with the older machines - in near-humanoid shape, sometimes resembling a thick rolling cloud. And sometimes very like Forbin’s nightmare vision.
    “Am I all right? Am I all right?” Forbin examined that novel proposition. Once recognized, he brushed it aside. “Damn silly question!”
    She was not to be put off, familiar with his state of mind from earlier crises; but ignorant of events, she realized Forbin was struggling to get control of himself. “Have you eaten lately?”
    “Eaten? Of course -” When had he had food? The idea was repellent, but she was right. “Not lately.”
    “What’s that housekeeper doing? Come on, Chief! D’you want I should tell her to get moving?” She did not know he had banished all servants from his personal quarters.
    “Er - it’s not that easy.” He glanced at his watch; still an hour to go. “Look Angela, you fix me something. Not much - you know - bring it right up. Don’t fool around, be here in ten minutes.”
    “How about Blake?”
    Forbin seemed destined to repeat her questions. “Blake? Oh, Blake! Yes, bring something for him too. Hurry!”
    Funny how he’d forgotten Blake, first human to taste Martian power. Poor devil, let him sleep… .
    Seven minutes and Angela arrived. En route she’d decided how to play it.
    “There has to be a stack of food around this place, yet you have me hauling this junk from the commissary.” That got her into the room and across to him. Christ, he looked shattered … fatigue lines etched into his cheeks, eyes sunken, silvery bristles on his chin.
    He frowned crossly. “For God’s sake, don’t nag!” That sounded ungrateful; he tried to soften it with a weak joke. “Good thing we didn’t marry.”
    “Maybe I wouldn’t nag if we had. Eat this.”
    For all his worries, he looked at her quickly, but let it go. “Thanks, Angela, and liven this milk up with some brandy, will you?”
    “You sure you want it?”
    “Sure-I’m goddam certain!” His temper flared. “If you had the faintest idea what I have to bear!” He shook his head. “Forget it - not the brandy.”
    She was on her knees beside him, thrusting a cheese sandwich into his hand. “Chief, don’t talk. Eat. I can’t imagine the strain of being world boss. Sorry.”
    He swallowed, grinned, “That?” He gave a short bark of a laugh. “I won’t say it’s the least of