* * * * *
Carefully, Mike checked the servo-motor that would maintain the
stationary position of the ring with clocklike precision against the
drag of bearing friction and the spin of the hub on which it was
mounted; then briefly looked over the network of tubes before entering
the air lock. He was ready to roll the wheel. "Aiee-yiee, Bessie! Then,
instead, she laughed. "No, you don't" Bessie said severely. "No, you don't. "On my mark, make it T minus thirty minutes. That ought to do it. O.K., here we go." "Now hear this. Now hear this. Mark and counting." "Hold, hold, hold. Repeat, hold the
countdown." "Holding the countdown." "Hey, Perk!" "I did not realize that you would wish additional observational data
before the swing began. The voice was cheerful, but very precise. "In that case, the astronomical almanac data in the computer's memory
should be more than sufficiently precise for your needs." * * * * *
As Bessie turned back to the control side of her console, she saw a
hand reach past her to pick up a pad of paper and pencil from the
console desk. "Yes, sir, Chief Blackhawk, sir. Then,
as the new pattern emerged, "I should have known it. It might be a while, though. "A flare, Mike? "Of course I'm not sure. Look." We can expect a
flare, and probably a dilly." "Why, Mike? "Yep, there's a flare coming. "Bessie," Mike's voice was serious. Quite spectacular ones. You just weren't out here,
where they make a difference of life or death. * * * * *
Bessandra Khamar, educated in Moscow, traced her ancestry back to one
of the Buryat tribes of southern Siberia, a location that had become
eventually, through the vast vagaries of history, known as the Buryat
Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic. * * * * *
The Chinese mainland had responded with nuclear weapons of its own;
weapons they, too, had not been known to possess, but had possessed. To each its own problems. To each its
own ideologies. Assembly itself, under the aegis of
diplomatic immunity. * * * * *
In school in Moscow, these things touched Bessandra's life only
remotely. * * * * *
In rim sector A-9, Dr. Claude Lavalle was having his troubles. * * * * *
In rim-sector A-10, the FARM (Fluid Agricultural Recirculating Method
control lab, according to the U.N. acronym), Dr. Millie Williams, her
satiny brown skin contrasting to her white T-shirt and shorts, was
also having her troubles. * * * * *
Paul Chernov, ordinary spaceman--which meant that he had only a little
more specialized training than the average college graduate--was
working in the dump, surrounded by much of the equipment that remained
to be placed aboard Space Lab One, and trying to identify the
particular object he sought. Even if he couldn't be a space pirate, it
gave him the feel. Happily, Paul burst into song. "O.K., M'Numba, 's m'numba!--I'm a space-yodler from way out. By the customs of his own country,
Tombu had only a single name. * * * * *
These were not the only activities in and around the wheel, or other
places in space. * * * * *
T minus three and counting. How much time do you need?" Holding." "... Four, three, two, one, mark." Slowly Mike inched the jet power up, and the speed and "gravity" of
the rim rose--from 0.009 to 0.039 to the pre-scheduled 0.15 of a
gravity--two RPM--at which she would remain until a thorough test
schedule over several days had been accomplished. * * * * *
New, experimental, her full complement of six hundred scientists and
service personnel so far represented by only one hundred sixty-three
aboard, the big wheel that was Space Lab One rotated majestically at
her hydrodynamically controlled two revolutions per minute. * * * * *
In effect, the entire ship operated against a zero-M-I calculation
which could be handled effectively only by the computer. * * * * *
Within the maze, existing by it and contributing to it, were the
laboratories concerned with other things, but surrounded by the waters
that had made life's beginnings possible on Earth, and the continuance
of life possible in space. This was the bridge. Of course there were, Nails admitted to himself, other frontiers. Yet space was different. * * * * *
Space Lab One had been in spin for two days. On Earth, TV viewers no longer demanded twenty-four hours of Lab
newscasts, and were returning to their normal cycles of Meet the
Press, the Doctor's Dilemma, and the Lives of Lucy, and other juicier
items of the imagination that, now that their lab was a functioning
reality, seemed far more exciting than the pictures of the
interminably spinning wheel and the interviews with scientists aboard
that had filled their screens during the spin-out trial period. "A thousand
ancestral blessings," he said. "Confusion say the last piece is the
most honored for its ability to complete the gadget, and this is it. "Of course," he added, "Confusion didn't say whether it would work or
not." asked Paul. The round, saffron-hued Chinese face
looked at Paul solemnly. Suddenly he grinned. Or the manuals for the
M.R. "So far, about the same thing. Mike was squatting on his heels by the haywire rig, built into what
looked suspiciously like a chassis extracted from one of the standard
control consoles of the communication department. Ishie grinned unrepentant. * * * * *
While he talked, Ishie had been busy inserting the carefully machined
piece of quartz plate that Chernov had brought, into a conglomeration
of glassware that looked like a refugee from the chem lab, and flipped
a switch that caused a glowing coil inside a pyrex boiler to heat a
small quantity of water, which must escape through the carefully
machined capillary holes in the plate he had just installed. and he pointed to the
maze of glass and glass tubing. "Oh. "Confusion say," Ishie continued as Mike stuck his finger in his
mouth, "he who point finger of suspicion should be careful of lurking
dragons! "Anyhow, that's what it does. "Oh, yes." The physicist nodded. * * * * *
Major Steve Elbertson stood on the magnetic stat-walk of the south
polar loading lock, gazing along the anchor tube to Project Hot Rod
five miles away. * * * * *
Project Hot Rod was actually a giant balloon eight thousand feet in
diameter, one-half "silvered" with a greenish reflective surface
inside that reflected only that light that could be utilized by the
ruby rods at its long focal center; and that absorbed the remainder of
the incident solar radiation, dumping it through to its black outside
surface, and on into the vastness of space. Therefore, these
servos had been designed as the ultimate in fail-safe, fool-proof
control to maintain the orientation of the mirror always within one
tenth of one degree of the center of Sol. * * * * *
The beam leaving the rods represented three hundred seventy-five
million watts of energy, tightly packaged for delivery to Earth. For all its size and complexity, Hot Rod was only a trifle over six
per cent efficient; but that six per cent of efficiency arriving on
Earth would be highly welcome to supplement the power sources that
statistics said were being rapidly depleted. For all its size, this director mirror had very little mass. * * * * *
As yet, the project had had no specific target; nor had it been fully
operational as of midnight yesterday. Therefore, the scientists were never alone in the control booth,
despite the mile-long security records of each. Therefore, he and his
men were in absolute control of the men who controlled the laser. Therefore, too, Steve told himself, as the time came when there would
be a question of command between himself and Captain Nails Andersen,
science advisor to the U.N. and commander of Space Lab One, his own
secret orders were that he was to take command--and the rank that
would give him that command was already bestowed, ready for
activation. But not command of the laser project, Steve told himself. Not in command of that, Steve told himself. His own crew of Security men shifted with the
scientists--but he, himself, shifted at will. * * * * *
In the observatory, Perk Kimball and his assistant Jerry Wallace were
having coffee as the various electronic adjuncts to the instruments of
the observatory warmed up. * * * * *
Major Steve Elbertson, caught in mid-run between the lab and Project
Hot Rod, resisted the temptation to reverse the scuttlebug on the line
and pull himself to a fast stop, as the flare warning from the
observatory came to him over the emergency circuit of his suit,
followed by Bessie's clipped official voice saying:
"A flare is in progress. Mark, three minutes." "Suit up," he said to the man briefly. "Four, three, two, one, release." Hot Rod was secured, and its crew were taking turns at the lock to
make the life-saving run back to the flare-shield area in the hub of
Lab One. * * * * *
In the gymnasium that served under emergency conditions as the
flare-shield area of the hub, long since dubbed the "morgue," the
circular nets of hammocks that made it possible to pack six hundred
personnel into an area with a thirty-two foot diameter and a
forty-five foot length, were lowered. * * * * *
The storm of space had broken. "Check the rosters, please. "All secure," she told the captain. "Evacuation is complete." May I congratulate you. Amazing, he thought. Not
that the decision had been totally his, but his influence had counted
heavily. Things would go well in her presence, he felt. Very competent, he thought. And attractive, too. * * * * *
In the engineering compartment, Mike was adjusting the power output
from the pile ten miles away, down from the full emergency power that
had been required to pump the more than five hundred thousand cubic
feet of water from the rim to the hub in seven minutes, to a level
more in keeping with the moderate requirements of the lab as it waited
out the storm. "Mike," he gasped. "I was afraid to leave it, unshielded. Radiation, that is. * * * * *
But Ishie seemed genuinely unaware of his true status, and the high
regard in which he was held. Instead, he carefully kept his face solemn while he commented: "It
ought to fit in that rack over there." "We can slip a fake panel on it. "Confusion say," he declared, "that ninety-six pound weakling who
struggle down shaft with six hundred pound object, even in free fall,
should have stood in bed." asked Mike. "Snarl. My toy is safe. I am going to bed. "Confusion decide to relent. Now I go back
again." * * * * *
Mike craftily sat back, still on his heels beside the object, and
watched until Ishie had disappeared, and then turned his full interest
to the playtoy that fortune had placed in his shop. Then he remembered some theory. That one was new to him. The electron, too, had a magnetic field; more powerful than
the proton's field because of its higher rate of spin, despite its
lighter mass. The electron could also be lined up. The electron's resonance. * * * * *
Hot Rod fought at the end of its tether like a mighty jellyfish hooked
on the end of a line. But the beam director had also been displaced, and vibrated. * * * * *
On the quiet bridge, the captain looked up as the Com Officer said,
"Thule Base, sir," and switched on his mike. "She's running wild. Repeat, Hot Rod is wild! "Hot Rod crew," he said briefly. Repeat. Hot Rod crew. The bridge. On the double." "In sick bay, sir. Report to the bridge on the
double, no matter what your condition. "This is Dr. Green, Captain Andersen. He cannot report for duty. "No, sir," said one. "Eight of our men are in sick bay." "Very well," said the captain. "Now hear this, all of you. There is a
saboteur--maybe more than one, we do not know--among you. You are to turn it off,
and to prevent the saboteur from stopping you. "Of course it's
operational," it said. "We left it operational." "You ... "We left it operational. "Hot Rod communications officer, sir. "Where's Dr. "Out. Out like a light," said another voice. "He got a good dose. Of
radiation. The medics put him out." "I'm Dr. Johnston." It was a man in front. Rather small,
pedantic-looking. "I'm Dr. Koblensky's ... well, assistant." "I, sir. "Very well. ... are in charge. As for the radiation, that's a
hazard you'll have to take. He has the only key. Without it, the
station cannot be removed from Earth control. Earth _is_ in control. They can turn it off, captain." "Chau ... Chau ... * * * * *
"Dr. Johnston, Earth is not in control. I do not know why, and there
is no way of finding out. "If you turn it off volitionally, you will
be treated for radiation. he asked. "This is Dr. Green, captain. We have searched thoroughly, sir. The key is not on his
person. "Let me speak to the Hot Rod Security
officer," he said briefly. "Yes, sir. It looks somewhat like a common Yale key, sir. "Yes, sir." We came straight to the morgue--the shield area,
from the air lock. "Why sure, captain." "I could pull the power
switch." "Pull it. Fast. Hot Rod was secure. * * * * *
Mike received only one further communication from the captain. "Sure, captain, I can--"
The captain interrupted. Mike turned to the control panel, and after a few minutes thought
busied himself for some time. "I think I've found your saboteur, sir," he said. he asked
briefly. "Not he, sir. It. Just a
moment. "Hm-m-m. * * * * *
The computer displayed the answer almost as soon as she received the
question. "Well," said Mike, "that's not too large a hole. "O.K.," said Mike. "Thanks." Therefore, it will probably
be quite simple to patch the hole. he thought. No. he asked. he asked. "No-o-o," came the placid reply. "If it's pulling us south, then why--" He stopped himself. He'd have to answer the "why" himself,
he knew. he asked. "No-o-oo," came the answer. he asked. "No-oorth." "No-o-oo," came the reply. Carefully. "No-o-oo." Mike was stumped. he asked. "No-o-oo," came the answer. Now Mike _was_ stumped. he asked. "Ye-es," said the Cow. Mike was
exasperated. * * * * *
Mike laughed ruefully. The Cow wasn't likely to be wrong, though her appalling literalness
was such that an improperly phrased question might make her seem to
be. he asked. Approximate number of pounds, please." asked Mike, still looking
at the Confusor. "Approximately," he added quickly. This, he thought, needs Ishie. And coffee, he told himself as a second
thought. "Ye-es, Mah-ike." "O.K." Then he set
off for the morgue. He gestured
Ishie to the bunk, and parked himself at his console. "We're in trouble," he said. Instead, he attributed the conclusions to himself. The physicist sat so still when he had finished that Mike became
seriously concerned. "Mike, it did? "My pretty," he said. "My delicate pretty. "Ishie. Mike grinned to himself. Not about Ishie, any
how. "Mike," he said, "you must show me in detail. "No, don't touch it! Finally, Mike spoke. "Ah, yes. Confusor it is. But this,
apparently, will not be. "Now to see what it is we have done. "But as I would put it, this means each particle owns its own place. This is ... well, anyhow, not sentient. "2. Even though they can't, they try. "3. That
it will continue, we know. * * * * *
Mike stared at Ishie with vast respect. "Not quite," he said, "but you're getting
close." "Oh, well," he said. "Confusion say," said Ishie, "he who has very little is often most
generous. "I mean," he floundered, "uh ... how
did you know?" "It's right behind
you," he said. "And I've got it by voice," he said. * * * * *
Ishie turned, glanced at the panel, and went over to the switch,
pushing it. "Reference not understoo-od. Ple-ease explai-ain." said Ishie. "Ye-es, si-ir," said the Cow. he asked. "You fixed it," he said. Mike lunged for the switch, but Ishie held him back. "Hold it, Boy. "We better think fast," said Mike. "All right," said Ishie. Mike did as he was told. "Confusion say it is better to have the voice of authority speak with
your words than to be the voice of authority. * * * * *
As they worked, time progressed. Two hours were spent in testing circuits, each one exhaustively. Then
Ishie turned to Mike. "That'll do it," he said. Those
racks were checked out to stand up under eighty gees," he added. * * * * *
Captain Naylor Andersen arrived on the bridge with an accusing air,
but feeling refreshed. "I checked
with the Cow. Suspect, repeat strongly suspect,
possibility of sabotage. End message." "Dr. Kimball. Dr. P.E.R. Kimball. Then he turned to Bessie. Very little, for the time that had passed--Very well, then. He put down a leak in his mind as a possibility. Now, water or air? It
could be either, if his reasoning this far were correct. He looked up. * * * * *
The barometric displays held constant, with only fractional deviations
that might have been imposed by the spin of the big wheel, or error in
the instruments themselves. "It's only about six hundred forty pounds," he added. End.'" "Dr.
Chi. Repeat. His own intercom hummed, and a voice came on. "Dr. Chi Tung is not in
the morgue. "Is Dr.
Chi with you, Mr. The physicist nodded. he asked. "I believe it could, captain. Blackhawk." Then to Ishie. "I think ... possibly, yes, captain. Let me say, probably yes." "Then please do so, and report the method to me. * * * * *
Five minutes later the two conspirators were back in the engineering
quarters, grinning like Cheshire cats, and mentally rolling up their
sleeves to go to work. How much thrust do we want, Mike?" "Limits, schlimits. No reason to, you know, and it wasn't expected to land or anything. "Now the other limit," said Ishie. The answer was discouraging. "No need, Mike. Very easily. * * * * *
Mike started to object. "As you say, a strong field must _initiate_ the action. Let us try
another experiment, Mike." "Now we see." Nothing. "O.K.," said Mike. "I get you. "I wish," he added, "that we could get one point one gee. Ishie grinned. Mike shrugged. "Oh, well," he said, "you're right of course. But it
was a beautiful dream. Boy, that was a beauty,
Ishie!" We know what we're
doing--at least, I hope we do. * * * * *
The two went to work with a will, and as the two sets of drawings
emerged, they were indeed different. he asked. asked Mike. Mike was still puzzled. "I don't see how that works," he said. "Hold it," said Mike. "O.K.," said Ishie. * * * * *
On the bridge, the captain received the drawings with relief. "Thank you, gentlemen. If these prove out, you may have saved the
satellite by the rapidity of your work. "In that case, captain, perhaps Mr.
Blackhawk and I had better start construction on this device
immediately, without waiting for you to complete the check-out. "Of course," said the captain. "Oh ... of course. It may be." above normal." To himself, Mike chortled gleefully. * * * * *
The return to the rim was slower than had been the evacuation--but it
was complete within twenty minutes of the decision to return the
satellite to normal. * * * * *
Major Steve Elbertson awoke with a start, to see a medic's eyes inches
from his own. "Please, sir, you must rest. No excitement." Almost, he was persuaded. Hot Rod was a dangerous weapon. He could not act irresponsibly. he muttered. The medic glanced at the clock. "Just over nineteen hours, sir." "Please, sir. No excitement. You must rest. Green." "Yes." "In that case, sir, my duty is to my post on Hot Rod." "Explain that, please. About Hot Rod, I mean." "Why, it was struck by a meteor shortly after the flare last night. Oh, and send somebody for
coffee--lots of coffee." * * * * *
On the bridge the captain flipped the intercom to Dr. Green's station. "Only sedatives, captain. "It might. "I did not discharge him, captain. "I see." "Probably not. He should come out of it in a few hours. "Thank you, doctor." * * * * *
Back in his quarters, Elbertson was refusing to admit to himself the
fact of his own weakness. The major knew himself guilty of
negligence while on duty. But that last, at least, was almost obvious. But he would have to proceed with care, or he would key the plan
before the time was ripe. _The_ message, sir. He doubted it was hurt. I will bring Smith with me. he ended, saluting smartly. * * * * *
As the Security squad moved, with individual secrecy, towards their
various posts, Captain Andersen was considering that Elbertson would
probably snap out of it as soon as he had had coffee and a shave. Out on the rim, things were getting back to normal. The two looked up as the slender figure of the dark-skinned biologist
entered the lab, balancing "trays" with plastic bottles atop. "Now, have you?" "Good idea," said Mike. "You two. You heard the lady. Scat." * * * * *
As soon as the physicist and the engineer were settled to the plastic
containers of food and coffee she had brought, wolfing them down
hungrily, Millie opened up. The two looked up guiltily and waited. I might be of some help, you know." "Don't worry," said Millie. "I'm probably the only one. You
don't have to tell me. "Confusion say," Ishie declared through the side of his mouth, "that
he who inadvertently puts big foot in mouth is apt to get teeth kicked
loose. "Your help here will
be appreciated, of course. How's your P.R. * * * * *
The two began to talk, interrupting each other, incoherently
outlining the Confusor and the various forces it exerted, and
the--what Mike kept calling the inertial fish hook. Finally Mike took over. It was far, far more than she had expected. Then she answered her own doubts. "Of course you're
telling the truth now. But
before they could answer, she answered her own question again. "You'd
have to. Of course. "Oh, no! "Yes, soon--and we hope soon enough." Ishie sighed, then grinned
impudently. "So you see," he said, "you have a very real P.R. problem. "It is a very neat problem," he said. * * * * *
Major Steve Elbertson arrived first at Project Hot Rod, and trailing
behind him on their scuttlebugs, the other six men. As the others entered, he turned to them. "Gentlemen," he said, and his voice took on power as he talked, "it is
a pleasure to re-introduce to you a companion whom you have known as
Lathe Smith. "Gentlemen," he finished, "may I introduce myself? * * * * *
On the bridge, Captain Nails had been annoyed. And where was Elbertson, anyhow? The medic had said he
was sick. But even so, I'd best check, he thought. Elbertson, of course, he thought furiously. "Dr. he almost shouted into the mike. "Of course not. "Dr. Ishie. To the bridge on the double. _Fast_,"
he said. While he waited, he checked the
Security quarters for Elbertson. The major was not there, nor was he
in the hospital. Elbertson, he thought. I've been blind. "Gentlemen, I'm not asking you to be the judge of that. Mike didn't
even pretend to be excited. "Then we will assume they have, Mr. Blackhawk." "No. They could do it though," he said
thoughtfully. Then he grinned. "Sure," he said. * * * * *
Then Mike heard Ishie's soft voice from behind him, slightly
breathless. "At that, you'd better swing the rim and swing her fast,
Mike. he barked. Slowly Mike swung around, eying the man coldly, and began a question. But there was no need. Between the two of them, the Security guard was lucky not to lose his
life in the first two seconds of battle. And now came the question of what to do with him, but Mike left that
to Ish. That was left to the Cow. "Confusion say those who play with firearms should be cautious! Mike,
this convinces me. "Well ... * * * * *
Walking around the floor, Mike carefully secured the four bulkheads,
two leading back to the morgue; two leading forward to the north pole
end of the hub. "Mission accomplished, sir. And you were quite right. "Thank you, Mr. Blackhawk." This was the
tank which surrounded the hub and held all of the waters of the rim
during flare conditions; but was now holding only the air supply
which, during a flare, was pumped to the rim. Nevertheless, he would be cautious. * * * * *
Before entering the machine shop, Mike spotted the Security man
through the open bulkhead--just standing there while Paul and Tombu
grimly worked on; and Millie sat idle, watching. Just as casually,
he stepped to one side. Now he looked directly at the Security guard. "Yes, Mike, but I don't think I'd better go there right now. There
aren't many of them, but these boys seem to be spread out all over." "O.K.," said Mike. "We can go in and out through the physics lab," he said. When both the lab and the Security man were under control, Paul
Chernov turned to Mike. "That milling-laser," he said. "I didn't," said Mike briefly. * * * * *
It took Tombu only minutes to hook in the radio. "Clark. And Clark. Security is
taking control. "This is war." * * * * *
As the last sentence came over the loud-speaker, Mike sprang to the
intercom. "Yes, Mike. Situation here very secure. It is
done. As he finished speaking, the intercom went dead. * * * * *
On the bridge, from the time that Mike and Ishie had left, the picture
of what was occurring had grown more ominous by the minute. From this, a direct, unprovoked attack by the scientists on Earth
itself. The U.N. would act. Mobilization would be declared. A war footing for the economy. Assembly. For the "duration of the emergency." But the smirk dropped from his face suddenly. I hereby do so." * * * * *
On board Hot Rod, the Security crew was working against an accelerated
time-schedule now. It was a curious sensation, seeing the big wheel from this angle. * * * * *
In the machine shop, Mike was rummaging around in one of the tool
lockers. "O.K." Mike turned back to the laser milling machine. "Depends on what you shoot, Mike. "It ought to take care of the plastic at least, then." "No. he asked Tombu. "Oh, most of it's just control circuits. This box on the back is the
power supply. "Make
that bracket to hold this power supply, too. Oh, and round me up about
sixty feet of extension cord, Tombu." "But, Mike, how are you going to get out there?" "Elbertson, this is Mike Blackhawk. You now have twenty minutes to
surrender," and he cut off. Mike turned to Tombu. Last time Mike had been out on the rim, the wheel had not been
turning. There'd been no reference of up and down, other than the rim
itself as an oddly curved floor. Now he felt disoriented. The wheel
was spinning, the hub, therefore, seemed "up." * * * * *
The stars seemed to sweep beneath his feet and over his head; and
though it was a slow pattern, only twice as fast as the crawl of a
second hand around the face of a clock, it was, nevertheless,
disorienting. And fired. The tube burst, noiselessly but quite spectacularly. And fired. "Three minutes," he spoke into the radio. "Your weapon is dead. Mike didn't bother to answer. Nothing. There. In the observatory. * * * * *
Instead of re-entering the lock as he had intended, Mike linked his
safety line to one of the service lines that lay along the nearest
spoke, and kicked up it. On Earth, he could have jumped maybe four feet with that motion. But this Mike did not notice. The lock showed vacant, and empty. But he did not remove his suit
and did not leave. Then he motioned the other figure
into the lock. "The Security people,"
she said, "are not the only ones with weapons. This was the most dangerous point, Mike knew. The spacesuits shucked, he opened the lock. Their luck held. "Confusion say," the grinning Chinese physicist declared, "two for one
is good luck." * * * * *
General Steve Elbertson made his way wearily in through the south lock
and on to the bridge where he found the communications officer in
complete charge with two Security men for assistants. Hot Rod was dead, but their control was by no means lessened. "Turn the thing off. Actually, it only depended on what you
wished to select. Hodgepodges and flickerings, yes. The Cow was really wild. He didn't, he noticed, feel nearly so weary. He HAD won. Why, he could even
get up and dance a jig--and this he proceeded to do. * * * * *
Bessie had a hangover. She groaned and stretched. "Da, Da eta--" with an effort Bessie switched to English. "Oh, Mike just had to get the Security men off guard. "Security. "Whoa, yourself, girl. You see ... oh, it's too complicated. "Look, we've got a real _space_ drive. "The boys put him to bed. In his quarters. * * * * *
It had been thirty-two hours since Major--General--whatever it was
Elbertson--had been defeated on the bridge for the final time. This part, Mike didn't like too well. A tenth of a gee. For those who needed it, better
shielding could be found. The system was theirs. Possibly, also the stars beyond. Undoubtedly, Earth Security had sent arms as well as men. Later, they could return. They could return quietly, one by one, two by two, at times and places
of their own choosing. But not now. * * * * *
Quite a speech, Mike thought. "Confusion say," quoth Ishie blandly, "he who would play poker with
dishonest men should never put all cards on table too soon. Or in
other words, Confusion is the better part of valor. "And by the way, Mike, that was quite a trick you pulled with the air
supply. Mike inquired. "Sorry, Mike. In
suits, of course," he added. But then, he asked himself, did he
really care? Ishie grinned, for once slightly embarrassed. "Confusion say," he
said, "luck is for those who make it.