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 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Men in
the Walls
 This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away
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included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you
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laws of the country where you are located before using this
eBook.

Title: The Men in the Walls

Author: William Tenn

Illustrator: Virgil Finlay

Release date: February 3, 2016 [eBook #51122]

Most recently updated: October 22, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online

Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MEN IN THE

WALLS ***
 THE MEN IN THE WALLS

By WILLIAM TENN

Illustrated by FINLAY

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from

Galaxy Science Fiction October 1963.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
 The world was divided between the Men and
the
Monsters—but which were Monsters and
which were Men?

I
Mankind consisted of 128 people.
The sheer population pressure of so vast a horde had long ago filled
over a dozen burrows. Bands of the Male Society occupied the
outermost four of these interconnected corridors and patrolled it
with their full strength, twenty-three young adult males in the prime
of courage and alertness. They were stationed there to take the first
shock of any danger to Mankind, they and their band captains and
the youthful initiates who served them.
Eric the Only was an initiate in this powerful force. Today, he was a
student warrior, a fetcher and a carrier for proven, seasoned men.
But tomorrow, tomorrow....
This was his birthday. Tomorrow, he would be sent forth to Steal for
Mankind. When he returned—and have no fear: Eric was swift, Eric
was clever, he would return—off might go the loose loin cloths of
boyhood to be replaced by the tight loin straps of a proud Male
Society warrior.
He would be free to raise his voice and express his opinions in the
Councils of Mankind. He could stare at the women whenever he
liked, for as long as he liked, to approach them even—
He found himself wandering to the end of his band's burrow, still
carrying the spear he was sharpening for his uncle. There, where a
women's burrow began, several members of the Female Society
were preparing food stolen from the Monster larder that very day.
Each spell had to be performed properly, each incantation said just
right, or it would not be fit to eat. It might even be dangerous.
Mankind was indeed fortunate: plenty of food, readily available, and
women who well understood the magical work of preparing it for
human consumption.

And such women—such splendid creatures!

Sarah the Sickness-Healer, for example, with her incredible
knowledge of what food was fit and what was unfit, her only
garment a cloud of hair that alternately screened and revealed her
hips and breasts, the largest in all Mankind. There was a woman for
you! Over five litters she had had, two of them of maximum size.
Eric watched as she turned a yellow chunk of food around and
around under the glow lamp hanging from the ceiling of the burrow,
looking for she only knew what and recognizing it when she found it
she only knew how. A man could really strut with such a mate.
But she was the wife of a band leader and far, far beyond him. Her
daughter, though, Selma the Soft-Skinned, would probably be
flattered by his attentions. She still wore her hair in a heavy bun: it
would be at least a year before the Female Society would consider
her an initiate and allow her to drape it about her nakedness. No, far
too young and unimportant for a man on the very verge of warrior
status.
Another girl caught his eye. She had been observing him for some
time and smiling behind her lashes, behind her demurely set mouth.
Harriet the History-Teller, the oldest daughter of Rita the Record-
Keeper, who would one day succeed to her mother's office. Now
there was a lovely, slender girl, her hair completely unwound in
testament to full womanhood and recognized professional status.

Eric had caught these covert, barely stated smiles from her before;
especially in the last few weeks, as the time for his Theft
approached. He knew that if he were successful—and he had to be
successful: don't dare think of anything but success!—she would
look with favor on advances from him. Of course, Harriet was a
redhead, and therefore, according to Mankind's traditions, unlucky.
She was probably having a hard time finding a mate. But his own
mother had been a redhead.
Yes, and his mother had been very unlucky indeed.
Even his father had been infected with her terrible bad luck. Still,
Harriet the History-Teller was an important person in the tribe for
one her age. Good-looking too. And, above all, she didn't turn away
from him. She smiled at him, openly now. He smiled back.
"Look at Eric!" he heard someone call out behind him. "He's already
searching for a mate. Hey, Eric! You've not even wearing straps yet.
First comes the stealing. Then comes the mating."
Eric spun around, bits of fantasy still stuck to his lips.
The group of young men lounging against the wall of his band's
burrow were tossing laughter back and forth between them. They
were all adults: they had all made their Theft. Socially, they were still
his superiors. His only recourse was cold dignity.
"I know that," he began. "There is no mating until—"
"Until never for some people," one of the young men broke in. He
rattled his spear in his hand, carelessly, proudly. "After you steal, you
still have to convince a woman that you're a man. And some men
have to do an awful lot of convincing. An awful lot, Eric-O."
The ball of laughter bounced back and forth again, heavier than
before. Eric the Only felt his face turn bright red. How dare they
remind him of his birth? On this day of all days? Here he was about
to prepare himself to go forth and Steal for Mankind....
He dropped the sharpening stone into his pouch and slid his right
hand back along his uncle's spear. "At least," he said, slowly and
definitely, "at least, my woman will stay convinced, Roy the Runner.
She won't be always open to offers from every other man in the
tribe."
"You lousy little throwback!" Roy the Runner yelled. He leaped away
from the rest of the band and into a crouch facing Eric, his spear
tense in one hand. "You're asking for a hole in the belly! My
woman's had two litters off me, two big litters. What would you have
given her, you dirty singleton?"
"She's had two litters, but not off you," Eric the Only spat, holding
his spear out in the guard position. "If you're the father, then the
chief's blonde hair is contagious—like measles."

Roy bellowed and jabbed his spear forward. Eric parried it and
lunged in his turn. He missed as his opponent leaped to one side.
They circled each other, cursing and insulting, eyes only for the point
of each other's spears. The other young men had scrambled a
distance down the burrow to get out of their way.
A powerful arm suddenly clamped Eric's waist from behind and lifted
him off his feet. He was kicked hard, so that he stumbled a half-
dozen steps and fell. On his feet in a moment, the spear still in his
hand, he whirled, ready to deal with this new opponent. He was
mad enough to fight all Mankind.
But not Thomas the Trap-Smasher. No, not that mad.
All the tension drained out of him as he recognized the captain of his
band. He couldn't fight Thomas. His uncle. And the greatest of all
men. Guiltily, he walked to the niche in the wall where the band's
weapons were stacked and slid his uncle's spear into its appointed
place.
"What the hell's the matter with you, Roy?" Thomas was asking
behind him. "Fighting a duel with an initiate? Where's your band
spirit? That's all we need these days, to be cut down from six
effectives to five. Save your spear for Strangers, or—if you feel very
brave—for Monsters. But don't show a point in our band's burrow if
you know what's good for you, hear me?"
"I wasn't fighting a duel," the Runner mumbled, sheathing his own
spear. "The kid got above himself. I was punishing him."
"You punish with the haft of the spear. And anyway, this is my band
and I do the punishing around here. Now move on out, all of you,
and get ready for the council. I'll attend to the boy myself."
They went off obediently without looking back. The Trap-Smasher's
band was famous for its discipline throughout the length and
breadth of Mankind. A proud thing to be a member of it. But to be
called a boy in front of the others! A boy, when he was full-grown
and ready to begin stealing!
Although, come to think of it, he'd rather be called a boy than a
singleton. A boy eventually became a man, but a singleton stayed a
singleton forever. He put the problem to his uncle who was at the
niche, inspecting the band's reserve pile of spears.
"Isn't it possible—I mean, it is possible, isn't it—that my father had
some children by another woman? You told me he was one of the
best thieves we ever had."
The captain of the band turned to study him, folding his arms across
his chest so that biceps swelled into greatness and power. They
glinted in the light of the tiny lantern bound to his forehead, the
glow lantern that only fully accredited warriors might wear. After a
while, the older man shook his head and said, very gently:
"Eric, Eric, forget about it, boy. He was all of those things and more.
Your father was famous. Eric the Storeroom-Stormer, we called him,
Eric the Laugher at Locks, Eric the Roistering Robber of all Mankind.
He taught me everything I know. But he only married once. And if
any other woman ever played around with him, she's been careful to
keep it a secret. Now dress up those spears. You've let them get all
sloppy. Butts together, that's the way, points up and even with each
other."

Dutifully, Eric rearranged the bundle of armament that was his

responsibility. He turned to his uncle again, now examining the
knapsacks and canteens that would be carried on the expedition.
"Suppose there had been another woman. My father could have had
two, three, even four litters by different women. Extra-large litters
too. If we could prove something like that, I wouldn't be a singleton
any more. I would not be Eric the Only."
The Trap-Smasher sighed and thought for a moment. Then he pulled
the spear from his back sling and took Eric's arm. He drew the youth
along the burrow until they stood alone in the very center of it. He
looked carefully at the exits at either end, making certain that they
were completely alone before giving his reply in an unusually low,
guarded voice.
"We'd never be able to prove anything like that. If you don't want to
be Eric the Only, if you want to be Eric the something-else, well
then, it's up to you. You have to make a good Theft. That's what you
should be thinking about all the time now—your Theft. Eric, which
category are you going to announce?"
He hadn't thought about it very much. "The usual one I guess. The
one that's picked for most initiations. First category."
The older man brought his lips together, looking dissatisfied. "First
category. Food. Well...."
Eric felt he understood. "You mean, for someone like me—an Only,
who's really got to make a name for himself—I ought to announce
like a real warrior? I should say I'm going to steal in the second
category—Articles Useful to Mankind. Is that what my father would
have done?"
"Do you know what your father would have done?"
"No. What?" Eric demanded eagerly.
"He'd have elected the third category. That's what I'd be announcing
these days, if I were going through an initiation ceremony. That's
what I want you to announce."
"Third category? Monster souvenirs? But no one's elected the third
category in I don't know how many auld lang synes. Why should I
do it?"
"Because this is more than just an initiation ceremony. It could be
the beginning of a new life for all of us."
Eric frowned. What could be more than an initiation ceremony and
his attainment of full thieving manhood?
"There are things going on in Mankind, these days," Thomas the
Trap-Smasher continued in a strange, urgent voice. "Big things. And
you're going to be a part of them. This Theft of yours—if you handle
it right, if you do what I tell you, it's likely to blow the lid off
everything the chief has been sitting on."
"The chief?" Eric felt confused. He was walking up a strange burrow
now without a glow lamp. "What's the chief got to do with my
Theft?"

His uncle examined both ends of the corridor again. "Eric, what's the
most important thing we, or you, or anyone, can do? What is our life
all about? What are we here for?"
"That's easy," Eric chuckled. "That's the easiest question there is. A
child could answer it:
"Hit back at the Monsters," he quoted. "Drive them from the planet,
if we can. Regain Earth for Mankind, if we can. But above all, hit
back at the Monsters. Make them suffer as they've made us suffer.
Make them know we're still here, we're still fighting. Hit back at the
Monsters."
"Hit back at the Monsters. Right. Now how have we been doing
that?"
Eric the Only stared at his uncle. That wasn't the next question in
the catechism. He must have heard incorrectly. His uncle couldn't
have made a mistake in such a basic ritual.
"We will do that," he went on in the second reply, his voice sliding
into the singsong of childhood lessons, "by regaining the science and
knowhow of our fore-fathers. Man was once Lord of all Creation: his
science and knowhow made him supreme. Science and knowhow is
what we need to hit back at the Monsters."
"Now, Eric," his uncle asked gently. "Please tell me this. What in hell
is knowhow?"
That was way off. They were a full corridor's length from the normal
progression of the catechism now.
"Knowhow is—knowhow is—" he stumbled over the unfamiliar verbal
terrain. "Well, it's what our ancestors knew. And what they did with
it, I guess. Knowhow is what you need before you can make
hydrogen bombs or economic warfare or guided missiles, any of
those really big weapons like our ancestors had."
"Did those weapons do them any good? Against the Monsters, I
mean. Did they stop the Monsters?"
Eric looked completely blank for a moment, then brightened. Oh! He
knew the way now. He knew how to get back to the catechism:
"The suddenness of the attack, the—"
"Stop it!" his uncle ordered. "Don't give me any of that garbage! The
suddenness of the attack, the treachery of the Monsters—does it
sound like an explanation to you? Honestly? If our ancestors were
really Lords of Creation and had such great weapons, would the
Monsters have been able to conquer them? I've led my band on
dozens of raids, and I know the value of a surprise attack; but
believe me, boy, it's only good for a flash charge and a quick
getaway if you're facing a superior force. You can knock somebody
down when he doesn't expect it. But if he really has more than you,
he won't stay down. Right?"
"I—I guess so. I wouldn't know."
"Well, I know. I know from plenty of battle experience. The thing to
remember is that once our ancestors were knocked down, they
stayed down. That means their science and knowhow were not so
much in the first place. And that means—" here he turned his head
and looked directly into Eric's eyes—"that means the science of our
ancestors wasn't worth one good damn against the Monsters, and it
wouldn't be worth one good damn to us!"
Eric the Only turned pale. He knew heresy when he heard it.

His uncle patted him on the shoulder, drawing a deep breath as if

he'd finally spat out something extremely unpleasant. He leaned
closer, eyes glittering beneath the forehead glow lamp and his voice
dropped to a fierce whisper.
"Eric. When I asked you how we've been hitting back at the
Monsters, you told me what we ought to do. We haven't been doing
a single thing to bother them. We don't know how to reconstruct the
Ancestor-science, we don't have the tools or weapons or knowhow—
whatever that is—but they wouldn't do us a bit of good even if we
had them. Because they failed once. They failed completely and at
their best. There's just no point in trying to put them together
again."
And now Eric understood. He understood why his uncle had
whispered, why there had been so much strain in this conversation.
Bloodshed was involved here, bloodshed and death.
"Uncle Thomas," he whispered, in a voice that kept cracking despite
his efforts to keep it whole and steady, "how long have you been an
Alien-Science man? When did you leave Ancestor-Science?"
Thomas the Trap-Smasher caressed his spear before he answered.
He felt for it with a gentle, wandering arm, almost unconsciously, but
both of them registered the fact that it was loose and ready. His
tremendous body, nude except for the straps about his loins and the
light spear-sling on his back, looked as if it were preparing to move
instantaneously in any direction.
He stared again from one end of the burrow to the other, his
forehead lamp reaching out to the branching darkness of the exits.
Eric stared with him. No one was leaning tightly against a wall and
listening.
"How long? Since I got to know your father. He was in another band;
naturally we hadn't seen much of each other before he married my
sister. I'd heard about him, though: everyone in the Male Society
had—he was a great thief. But once he became my brother-in-law, I
learned a lot from him. I learned about locks, about the latest traps
—and I learned about Alien-Science. He'd been an Alien-Science
man for years. He converted your mother, and he converted me."
Eric the Only backed away. "No!" he called out wildly. "Not my father
and mother! They were decent people—when they were killed a
service was held in their name—they went to add to the science of
our ancestors—"

His uncle jammed a powerful hand over his mouth.

"Shut up, you damn fool, or you'll finish us both! Of course your
parents were decent people. How do you think they were killed?
Your mother was with your father out in Monster territory. Have you
ever heard of a woman going along with her husband on a Theft?
And taking her baby with her? Do you think it was an ordinary
robbery of the Monsters? They were Alien-science people, serving
their faith as best they could. They died for it."
Eric looked into his uncle's eyes over the hand that covered the
lower half of his face. Alien-science people ... serving their faith ...
do you think it was an ordinary robbery ... they died for it!
He had never realized before how odd it was that his parents had
gone to Monster territory together, a man taking his wife and the
woman taking her baby!
As he relaxed, his uncle removed the gagging hand. "What kind of
Theft was it that my parents died in?"
Thomas examined his face and seemed satisfied. "The kind you're
going after," he said. "If you are your father's son. If you're man
enough to continue the work he started. Are you?"
Eric started to nod, then found himself shrugging weakly, and finally
just hung his head. He didn't know what to say. His uncle—well, his
uncle was his model and his leader, and he was strong and wise and
crafty. His father—naturally, he wanted to emulate his father and
continue whatever work he had started. But this was his initiation
ceremony, after all, and there would be enough danger merely in
proving his manhood. For his initiation ceremony to take on a task
that had destroyed his father, the greatest thief the tribe had ever
known, and a heretical, blasphemous task at that....
"I'll try. I don't know if I can."
"You can," his uncle told him heartily. "It's been set up for you. It
will be like walking through a dug burrow, Eric. All you have to face
through is the council. You'll have to be steady there, no matter
what. You tell the chief that you're undertaking the third category."
"But why the third?" Eric asked. "Why does it have to be Monster
souvenirs?"
"Because that's what we need. And you stick to it, no matter what
pressure they put on you. Remember, an initiate has the right to
decide what he's going to steal. A man's first Theft is his own affair."
"But, listen, uncle—"
There was a whistle from the end of the burrow. Thomas the Trap-
Smasher nodded in the direction of the signal.
"The council's beginning, boy. We'll talk later, on expedition. Now
remember this: stealing from the third category is your own idea,
and all your own idea. Forget everything else we've talked about. If
you hit any trouble with the chief, I'll be there. I'm your sponsor,
after all."
He threw an arm about his confused nephew and walked to the end
of the burrow where the other members of the band waited.

II
The tribe had gathered in its central and largest burrow under the
great, hanging glow lamps that might be used in this place alone.
Except for the few sentinels on duty in the outlying corridors, all of
Mankind was here. It was an awesome sight to behold.
On the little hillock known as the Royal Mound, lolled Franklin the
Father of Many Thieves, Chieftain of all Mankind. He alone of the
cluster of warriors displayed heaviness of belly and flabbiness of arm
—for he alone had the privilege of a sedentary life. Beside the
sternly muscled band leaders who formed his immediate
background, he looked almost womanly; and yet one of his many
titles was simply The Man.
Yes, unquestionably The Man of Mankind was Franklin the Father of
Many Thieves. You could tell it from the hushed, respectful attitudes
of the subordinate warriors who stood at a distance from the
mound. You could tell it from the rippling interest of the women as
they stood on the other side of the great burrow, drawn up in the
ranks of the Female Society. You could tell it from the nervousness
and scorn with which the women were watched by their leader,
Ottilie, the Chieftain's First Wife. And finally, you could tell it from
the faces of the children, standing in a distant, disorganized bunch.
A clear majority of their faces bore an unmistakable resemblance to
Franklin's.
Franklin clapped his hands, three evenly spaced, flesh-heavy
wallops.
"In the name of our ancestors," he said, "and the science with which
they ruled the Earth, I declare this council opened. May it end as
one more step in the regaining of their science. Who asked for a
council?"
"I did." Thomas the Trap-Smasher moved out of his band and stood
before the chief.
Franklin nodded, and went on with the next, formal question:
"And your reason?"
"As a band leader, I call attention to a candidate for manhood. A
member of my band, a spear-carrier for the required time, and an
accepted apprentice in the Male Society. My nephew, Eric the Only."
As his name was sung out, Eric shook himself. Half on his own
volition and half in response to the pushes he received from the
other warriors, he stumbled up to his uncle and faced the chief. This,
the most important moment of his life, was proving almost too much
for him. So many people in one place, accredited and famous
warriors, knowledgeable and attractive women, the chief himself, all
this after the shattering revelations from his uncle—he was finding it
hard to think clearly. And it was vital to think clearly. His responses
to the next few questions had to be exactly right.

The chief was asking the first: "Eric the Only, do you apply for full
manhood?"
Eric breathed hard and nodded. "I do."
"As a full man, what will be your value to Mankind?"
"I will steal for Mankind whatever it needs. I will defend Mankind
against all outsiders. I will increase the possessions and knowledge
of the Female Society so that the Female Society can increase the
power and well-being of Mankind."
"And all this you swear to do?"
"And all this I swear to do."
The Chief turned to Eric's uncle. "As his sponsor, do you support his
oath and swear that he is to be trusted?"
With just the faintest hint of sarcasm in his voice, Thomas the Trap-
Smasher replied: "Yes. I support his oath and swear that he is to be
trusted."
There was a rattling moment, the barest second, when the chief's
eyes locked with those of the band leader. With all that was on Eric's
mind at the moment, he noticed it. Then the chief looked away and
pointed to the women on the other side of the burrow.
"He is accepted as a candidate by the men. Now the women must
ask for proof, for only a woman's proof bestows full manhood."
The first part was over. And it hadn't been too bad. Eric turned to
face the advancing leaders of the Female Society, Ottilie, the
Chieftain's First Wife, in the center. Now came the part that scared
him. The women's part.
As was customary at such a moment, his uncle and sponsor left him
when the women came forward. Thomas the Trap-Smasher led his
band to the warriors grouped about the Throne Mound. There, with
their colleagues, they folded their arms across their chests and
turned to watch. A man can only give proof of his manhood while he
is alone; his friends cannot support him once the women approach.
It was not going to be easy, Eric realized. He had hoped that at least
one of his uncle's wives would be among the three examiners: they
were both kindly people who liked him and had talked to him much
about the mysteries of women's work. But he had drawn a trio of
hard-faced females who apparently intended to take him over the
full course before they passed him.
Sarah the Sickness-Healer opened the proceedings. She circled him
belligerently, hands on hips, her great breasts rolling to and fro like a
pair of swollen pendulums, her eyes glittering with scorn.
"Eric the Only," she intoned, and then paused to grin, as if it were a
name impossible to believe, "Eric the Singleton, Eric the one and
only child of either his mother or his father. Your parents almost
didn't have enough between them to make a solitary child. Is there
enough in you to make a man?"
There was a snigger of appreciation from the children in the
distance, and it was echoed by a few growling laughs from the
vicinity of the Throne Mound. Eric felt his face and neck go red. He
would have fought any man to the death for remarks like these. Any
man at all. But who could lift his hand to a woman and be allowed to
live? Besides, one of the main purposes of this exhibition was to
investigate his powers of self-control.
"I think so," he managed to say after a long pause. "And I'm willing
to prove it."
"Prove it, then!" the woman snarled. Her right hand, holding a long,
sharp-pointed pin, shot to his chest like a flung spear. Eric made his
muscles rigid and tried to send his mind away. That, the men had
told him, was what you had to do at this moment: it was not you
they were hurting, not you at all. You, your mind, your knowledge of
self, were in another part of the burrow entirely, watching these
painful things being done to someone else.
The pin sank into his chest for a little distance, paused, came out. It
probed here, probed there; finally it found a nerve in his upper arm.
There, guided by the knowledge of the Sickness-Healer, it bit and
clawed at the delicate area until Eric felt he would grind his teeth to
powder in the effort not to cry out. His clenched fists twisted
agonizingly at the ends of his arms in a paroxysm of protest, but he
kept his body still. He didn't cry out; he didn't move away; he didn't
raise a hand to protect himself.
Sarah the Sickness-Healer stepped back and considered him. "There
is no man here yet," she said grudgingly. "But perhaps there is the
beginnings of one."
He could relax. The physical test was over. There would be another
one, much later, after he had completed his theft successfully; but
that would be exclusively by men as part of his proud initiation
ceremony. Under the circumstances, he knew he would be able to go
through it almost gaily.
Meanwhile, the women's physical test was over. That was the
important thing for now. In sheer reaction, his body gushed forth
sweat which slid over the bloody cracks in his skin and stung
viciously. He felt the water pouring down his back and forced himself
not to go limp, prodded his mind into alertness.
"Did that hurt?" he was being asked by Rita, the old crone of a
Record-Keeper. There was a solicitous smile on her forty-year-old
face, but he knew it was a fake. A woman as old as that no longer
felt sorry for anybody. She had too many aches and pains and things
generally wrong with her to worry about other people's troubles.
"A little," he said. "Not much."
"The Monsters will hurt you much more if they catch you stealing
from them, do you know that? They will hurt you much more than
we ever could."
"I know. But the stealing is more important than the risk I'm taking.
The stealing is the most important thing a man can do."

Rita the Record-Keeper nodded. "Because you steal things Mankind

needs in order to live. You steal things that the Female Society can
make into food, clothing and weapons for Mankind, so that Mankind
can live and flourish."
He saw the way, saw what was expected of him. "No," he
contradicted her. "That's not why we steal. We live on what we steal,
but we do not steal just to go on living."
"Why?" she asked blandly, as if she didn't know the answer better
than any other member of the tribe. "Why do we steal? What is
more important than survival?"
Here it was now. The catechism.
"To hit back at the Monsters," he began. "To drive them from the
planet, if we can. Regain Earth for Mankind, if we can. But, above
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