Part 2

Walter Stanton jumped as an image of the missile appeared on the telescreen. From a tiny flash it grew quickly more bright until it was a circle on the screen. "Locked!" grated Cramer's voice. "Firing!"

Two streaks appeared at the bottom of the screen and darted for the circle. Walter Stanton heard a gasp of relief in the compartment as they sped true, straight for the center. Then, amazingly, the streaks wobbled erratically and streaked away. The circle of light moved slowly downward off the screen as Mel Cramer pulled up.

"Missed," breathed Goldstein. "Brother...."

Mel Cramer's voice cut into the silence. It was strained and uncertain. "I think it's jamming my control heads.... Putting out strips, maybe. I'm making another pass."

"Thanks, Colonel," whispered Lang from the plotting board. "This is what Uncle pays you for.... Let's earn it...."

For an eternity they waited, and again the circles appeared in the center of the screen. "Locked," Mel Cramer said. Closer and closer moved the light, and for a moment Walter Stanton had a wild burst of hope. The target seemed too close to miss; the two rockets streaked for it, reaching hungrily. Then they wobbled again and disappeared from the screen as Mel Cramer pulled up. There was a chilling silence in the room.

"Well," said Goldstein, "that does it. We've got ... let's see ... 176 seconds, if anyone cares to know."

Mel Cramer's voice came into the room as if from the grave. "It.... It was jamming ... I was right on!"

"Excuses, Colonel," muttered Lang. "Always excuses...."

Goldstein talked into the mike. "Colonel, I suggest you commence your braking ellipse immediately. I don't know what effect the explosion will have in this orbit, but I think you'd better leave it."

Walter Stanton turned desperately to Goldstein. "Goldie, is it certain? We've _got_ to save the platform! Suppose I use full reactors, shorten our orbit even faster?"

"It won't matter, sir." He jammed his thumb at the PPI scope. "That thing's tailing us like a flying cadet after a WAF. It'd follow us all the way back to Sandia if we could get there."

Walter Stanton felt the Platform, his dream, pulsing around him. For a moment he felt an affection even for the maddening wail of the ventilators. Behind him, he knew, were some of the best brains in science; men whose concepts cut across the lines of nationalism; who by their presence on the Platform showed that they disregarded the very instinct of self-preservation in the search for Truth. And he felt the presence too of the thousands below who had helped make the Platform a reality. He took a deep breath. Then he picked up the microphone and spoke to his friend.

"Mel, this is Walt. I've just received a dispatch. Do not--repeat--do _not_ land at Sandia. Suggest you try to use White Sands."

Mel's startled voice came back. "Why?"

Walter Stanton felt his hands grow clammy.

"They just destroyed Sandia Base."

Goldstein gaped at him. "What.... What are you telling him?" He moved for the mike, but Walter Stanton shook his head.

The speaker crackled. "Destroyed? Sandia destroyed?"

"Entirely."

"The--The dependents' quarters too?"

Walter Stanton forced out the words. "Everything, Mel."

There was a long silence, and then Mel Cramer spoke, and his voice was tired. "Vector me, Goldie."

Goldstein said: "To White Sands, Colonel?"

Behind the tiredness and the sadness Walter Stanton caught a hint of strength in the voice that came back.

"To the missile...."

Goldstein hesitated, looked at Walter Stanton.

"Do it, son," said Stanton....

* * * * *

He could never afterwards remember how long he had been sitting at his desk when Goldstein tapped on the hatch and entered, carrying a message. The lean youth looked down at him.

"First, sir, I want to say that I understand...."

Walter Stanton looked at him gratefully. "You know it wasn't to save us.... Just the Platform...."

"I know it, and it took more guts than I've ever seen. But you'll need guts for this too, sir...."

He handed Stanton the message.

FROM: EARTH CONTROL CENTER TO: SPACE ONE SANDIA BASE DESTROYED ENEMY BOMBING ATTACK STAVES

The dull throbbing ache started in his chest, and he knew that it might live with him for the rest of his life. He let the message fall.

"If you get a list of dependent casualties, call a conference immediately."

"Yes sir. Anything else, sir?"

He forced himself to forget Lynne and Karen and concentrate on the new problems. He moved to the deck-port and kicked open the cover. On their shortened orbit they were moving in relation to the earth's surface now; the west coast of Africa lay below.

"Did Cargo One get launched?"

"No, sir. Destroyed while fueling."

One of the problems, then, would be starvation; Cargo Two was months from completion. But at least, if they could survive, they'd have a chance to prove themselves; to prove the value of the Platform in war as well as peace; to save the tiny satellite for its intended use. He turned to Goldstein.

"Pass the word for that conference now. We've got some high-powered IQ's up here and there's a war going on. Maybe we can make it the last one...."