ty. There was little
question who they would side with if it ever came to such a choice. It
was all quite hopeless. His people were just pilgrims and this, too,
would never be their home.

"Yes, yes, yes. But I do not give up!"

The dome was in sight and he was drawing closer. He was there. He
guided the high-gravity cruiser between two of the eight supporting
struts arcing down from the huge floor, the raised structure. He
waited for the lift to be lowered, crawled up onto it. The airlock was
opened, and the cruiser raised inside it. The doors were shut below
him and breathable air whispered around him. He opened the hatch,
climbed down and greeted his son.

"Leon. Any news?" The young man seemed troubled, though he was doing
his best to conceal it.

"Yes, and none of it good. Salnikov is on the communicator. I'd
better let him explain it."

They walked quickly to the high wall of the dock, rose in separate
tubes to a curving corridor on the primary floor. From this they
entered the meeting room. A large screen at the front of it showed the
dispassionate face of Vladimir Salnikov, Soviet ambassador to
Marcum-Lauries Independent. They pushed past the chairs of an oval
table and went to the railing before it.

"Yes, Vladimir. What have you got?"

"I've been talking with Science Central," said the ambassador. "We
know what the problem is, but are not yet certain what is causing it."

"Well are you going to tell me or do I have to guess it?" If all the
stars in Space had suddenly gone out, it would never show on that face.

"Easy, Nicholai. I am on your side?" Dobrynin gave a reluctant nod.
"Your planet is in serious trouble. She will not engage her second
orbit. She only remains at the equilibrium point between the two, and
loses almost six minutes each rotation. Internal pressures, as I am
sure you know, are dangerously high. If something does not change
soon, she will blow herself apart. You have perhaps ninety-eight
hours."

... "Why, Vladimir? Why?"

"We cannot be sure, except to say there is no natural phenomenon that
would explain it." A pause.

"Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"Not for the record."

"What about off it?"

"Go to scramble," said the Soviet. "Code 4."

His son made the necessary adjustments. Salnikov began again, the
words no longer corresponding to the movement of his lips.

"Can you understand me?"

"Yes."

"Have you sent out your