ce that I do now, to fly
and fight for the greatest nation in the galaxy, the United
Commonwealth of America.

"Well, I guess that's all for now. Give my love to Mama, and God
bless."

This bullet-pouch was not, however, the first word that Stone had heard
of the massacre. The day before he had received a tele-communication
from Soviet Premier Denisov, short and to the point.

"Mr. President. Is it war you want?"

At this point Stone motioned in his Vice-President, Jordan Plant, who
was standing by the door. The visual screens of both powers remained
blank.

"No, Premier Denisov. That's the last thing I want."

"Then why does your Secretary of State continue to murder in your name?
I am sure you have heard what happened in East German Cerberus?"

Stone turned a helpless look toward Plant, who first lifted his hands
(he didn't know), then moved closer and whispered in his ear:
"Whatever Hayes has done, now more than ever we have to tell him."

Stone took a deep breath.

"Secretary Hayes is no longer acting under my orders. And I did not
order the attack on Athena."

There was no pause on the part of Denisov. "Now you must tell me
something I do not already know. But I ask you plainly, Mr. Stone.
What do you plan to do about it?"

Plant quickly wrote a reply on his note-board and handed it to the
president, who read it with all the gravity he could muster.

"I have not yet given up hope that General Hayes can be peacefully
dissuaded from his present course. But be assured, one way or the
other, he will be brought to justice."

"And let me assure YOU, Mr. President, that our patience is at an end.
You have thirteen days to return me a better answer, or the Soviet
Space Republics will deal with the Third Fleet ourselves."

Stone paused, but the words were his own. "You know I can't let you do
that."

Whether these last words were heard or not, there was no reply. The
channel was closed. Luther Bacon, White House Chief-of-Staff, was then
brought in and apprised of the situation.

The next day, after receiving Hayes' bullet and trying (unsuccessfully)
to keep its contents from the press, the three held their council.
Bacon paced thoughtfully. Plant, seated, touched his fingertips
lightly together while Stone, disconsolate, felt the walls crumbling
around him. Half an hour before, despite all their efforts, he had
received a phone call from a member of the New York Press Corp