the routine of daily living had to
go on, despite the big business of governments whose leaders invoked the
Deity in the cause of slaughter.

A voice, echoing up out of the conning tower, made him jump. The command
set was barking his call letters.

"Unit Sugar William Niner Zero, Mother wants you. I say again: Mother
wants you. Acknowledge please. Over."

The message meant: _return to base immediately_. And it implied an
urgency in the use of the code-word Mother. He frowned and started up,
then fell back with a low grunt.

All of his resentment against the world's political jackasses suddenly
boiled up inside him as a _personal_ resentment. There was something
about the metallic rasp of the radio's voice that sparked him to sudden
rebelliousness.

"Unit Sugar William Niner Zero, Mother wants you, Mother wants you.
Acknowledge immediately. Over."

He had a good idea what it was all about. All subs were probably being
called in for rearmament with cobalt-rigged atomic warheads for their
guided missiles. The submarine force would probably be used to implement
Garson's ultimatum. They would deliver radiological death to Eurasian
coastal cities, and cause the Soviets to retaliate.

_Why must I participate in the wrecking of mechanical civilization?_ he
thought grimly.

But a counter-thought came to trouble him: _I have a duty to obey; The
country gave me birth and brought me up, and now it's got a war to
fight._

He arose and let himself down through the conning tower. He reached for
the microphone, but the receiver croaked again.

"Sugar William Niner Zero, you are ordered to answer immediately.
Mother's fixing shortening bread. Mother wants you. Over."

Shortening bread--big plans, something special, a radiological
death-dish for the world. He hated the voice quietly. His hand touched
the microphone but did not lift it.

He stood poised there in the light of a single glow-lamp, feeling his
small sub rocking gently in the calm sea, listening to the quiet purr of
the atomics beneath him. He had come to love the little sub, despite the
loneliness of long weeks at sea. His only companion was the sub's small
computer which was used for navigation and for calculations pertaining
to the firing of the rocket-missiles. It also handled the probability
mathematics of random search, and automatically radioed periodic
position reports to the home-base computer.

He glanced suddenly at his watch, it was nearly time f