the
teleprompter on his desk. Efficient as ever, Myra had their names there
before him. He said, "Gentle R'hau-chi, I believe a simple exposition
of our situation, and of what programs we are seeking to meet and
mitigate it with, will give you the answers. Not, perhaps, the answers
you seek, but the answers we must accept ..."

Although the reports from World Laboratories changed from day to day, he
knew the speech by heart. For the problem remained. Humanity, like
virtually all other organic life on Earth, was dying. Where it spawned,
it spawned monsters. On three-dimensional vidar rolls, he showed them
live shots of what the laboratories were doing, what they were trying to
do--in the insemination groups, the incubators, the ray-bombardment
chambers, the parthenogenesis bureau.

Studying them, he could see by their expressions, hear by the prayers
they muttered, how shocking these revelations were. It was one thing to
know what was going on--another for them to see for themselves. It was
neither pretty--nor hopeful.

When it was over, the rabbi spoke. He said, in deep, slightly guttural,
vastly impressive intonations, "What about Mars, honorable sir? Have you
reached communication with our brothers and sisters on the red planet?"

Bliss shook his head. He glanced at the alma-calendar at his elbow and
told them, "Mars continues to maintain silence--as it has for two
hundred and thirty-one years. Ever since the final war."

They knew it, but they had to hear it from him to accept it even
briefly. There was silence, long wretched silence. Then the abbess
spoke. She said, "Couldn't we send out a ship to study conditions first
hand, honorable sir?"

Bliss sighed. He said, "The last four spaceships on Earth were sent to
Mars at two-year intervals during the last perihelions. Not one of them
came back. That was more than a half century ago. Since I accepted this
office, I have had some of our ablest remaining scientific brains
working on the problem of building a new ship. They have not been
successful." He laid his gloved hands, palms upward, on the desk, added,
"It appears that we have lost the knack for such projects."

When they were gone, he walked to the broad window and looked out over
the World Capital buildings at the verdant Sahara that stretched
hundreds of miles to the foot of the faintly purple Atlas Mountains on
the northwestern horizon. A blanket of brilliant green, covering what
had once been the gre