ficers, then centered on his antagonist at the
other end of the desk. "You want to _infect_ them, Thauele?" he demanded.

The wingsman darkened. His fist exploded on the desktop. "Meikl, you're
in contempt! Restrict yourself to answering questions!"

"Yes, sir."

"There will be no further breaches of military etiquette during the
continuance of this conference," the elderly gentleman announced icily,
thus seizing the situation.

After a moment's silence, he turned to the analyst again. "We've got to
refuel," he said flatly. "In order to refuel, we must land."

"Yes, sir. But why not on Mars? We can develop our own facilities for
producing fuel. Why must it be Earth?"

"Because there will be _some existing facilities_ on Earth, even though
they're out of space. The job would take five years on Mars."

The analyst lowered his eyes, shook his head wearily. "I'm thinking of a
billion earthlings. Aren't they worth considering, sir?"

"I've got to consider the men in my command, Meikl. They've been through
hell. We all have."

"The hell was our own making, baron."

"_Meikl!_"

"Sorry, sir."

Baron ven Klaeden paused ominously, then: "Besides, Meikl, your
predictions of disaster rest on certain assumptions not known to be
true. You assume that the recessive determinants still linger in the
present inhabitants. Twenty thousand years is a long time. Nearly a
thousand generations. I don't know a great deal about culturetics, but
I've read that _kulturverlaengerung_ reaches a threshold of extinction
after about a dozen generations, if there's no restimulation."

"Only in laboratory cultures, sir," sighed the analyst. "Under rigid
control to make certain there's no restimulant. In practice, in a
planet-wide society, there's constant accidental restimulation,
unconsciously occuring. A determinant gets restimulated, pops back to
original intensity, and gets passed on. In practice, a kult'laenger
linkage never really dies out--although, it can stay recessive and
unconscious."

"That's too bad," a wingsman growled sourly. "We'll wake it up, won't
we?"

"Let's not be callous," the other wingsman grunted in sarcasm. "Analyst
Meikl has sensitivities."

The analyst stared from one to the other of them in growing
consternation, then looked pleadingly at the baron. "Sir, I was
_summoned_ here to offer my opinions about landing on Earth. You asked
about possible cultural dangers. I've told you."

"You discussed the dang