A Hero’s Life by James Blish

we’re germsand maybe ifd take more than four germs to

make the body do anything against us that counted, at least

fast enough to do any good.”

Cassirir was frowning absurdly; he did not seem to be

taking the theory in without pain. Well, Cassirir had never

been much of a man for tactics.

“Here’s where we found the guy,” one of the men said,

pointing at the sand.

“That’s not much of a trail,” Cassirir said. “If there’s any

wind it’ll be wiped out like a shot.”

“Take a sight on it, that’s all we need. You saw him run

offstraight as a ruled line, no twists or turns around the

dunes or anything. Like an army ant. If the trail sands over,

we’ll follow the sight. It’s a cinch it leads someplace.”

“All right,” Cassirir said, getting out his compass. After a

while the four of them resumed trudging.

There were only a few drops of hot, flat-tasting water left

in the canteens, and their eyes were gritty and red from dry-

ness and sand, when they topped the ridge that overlooked

the nest. The word sprang instantly into Oberholzer’s mind,

though perhaps he had been expecting some such thing ever

since Robin One had compared the Calleans to ants.

It was a collection of rough white spires, each perhaps

fifty feet high, rising from a common doughlike mass which

almost filled a small valley. There was no greenery around it

and no visible source of water, but there were three roads,

two of them leading into oval black entrances which Ober-

holzer could see from here. Occasionallynot oftena Cal-

lean would scuttle out and vanish, or come speeding over