"You are building a Moon ship."

      "Who says so?"

      "A Moon ship is being built. The boys all say you are behind it."

      "Yes?"

      "I want to pilot it."

      "Why should you?"

      "I'm the best man for it."

      Harriman paused to let out a cloud of tobacco smoke. "If you can prove that, the billet is yours."

      "It's a deal." LeCroix stood up. "I'll leave my nameand address outside."

      "Wait a minute. I said 'if.' Let's talk. I'm going along on this trip myself; I want to know more about you before I trust my neck to you."

      They discussed Moon flight, interplanetary travel, rocketry, what they might find on the Moon. Gradually Harriman warmed up, as he found another spirit so like his own, so obsessed with the Wonderful Dream. Subconsciously he had already accepted LeCroix; the conversation began to assume that it would be a joint venture.

      After a long time Harriman said, "This is fun, Les, but I've got to do a few chores yet today, or none of us will get to the Moon. You go on out to Peterson Field and get acquainted with Bob Coster-I'll call him. If the pair of you can manage to get along, we'll talk contract." He scribbled a chit and handed it to LeCroix. "Give this to Miss Perkins as you go out and she'll put you on the payroll."

      "That can wait."

      "Man's got to eat."

      LeCroix accepted it but did not leave. "There's one thing I don't understand, Mr. Harriman."

      "Huh?"

      "Why are you planning on a chemically powered ship? Not that I object; I'll herd her. But why do it the hard way? I know you had the City of Brisbane refitted for X-fuel-"

      Harriman stared at him. "Are you off your nut, Les? You're asking why pigs don't have wings-there isn't any X-fuel and there won't be any more until we make some ourselves-on the Moon."

      "Who told you that?"

      "What do you mean?"

      "The way I heard it, the Atomic Energy Commission allocated X-fuel, under treaty, to several other countries-and some of them weren't prepared to make use of it. But they got it just the same. What happened to it?"

      "Oh, that! Sure, Les, several of the little outfits in Central America and South America were cut in for a slice of pie for political reasons, even though they had no way to eat it. A good thing, too-we bought it back and used it to ease the immediate power shortage." Harriman frowned. "You're right, though. I should have grabbed some of the stuff then."

      "Are you sure it's all gone?"

      "Why, of course, I'm- No, I'm not. I'll look into it. G'bye, Les."

      His contacts were able to account for every pound of X-fuel in short order-save for Costa Rica's allotment. That nation had declined to sell back its supply because its power plant, suitable for X-fuel, had been almost finished at the time of the disaster. Another inquiry disclosed that the power plant had never been finished.

      Montgomery was even then in Managua; Nicaragua had had a change in administration and Montgomery was making certain that the special position of the local Moon corporation was protected. Harriman sent him a coded message to proceed to San José, locate X-fuel, buy it and ship it back-at any cost. He then went to see the chairman of the Atomic Energy Commission.

      That official was apparently glad to see him and anxious to be affable. Harriman got around to explaining that he wanted a license to do experimental work in isotopes-X-fuel, to be precise.

      "This should be brought up through the usual channels, Mr. Harriman."

      "It will be. This is a preliminary inquiry. I want to know your reactions."

      "After all, I am not the only commissioner . . . and we almost always follow the recommendations of our technical branch."

      "Don't fence with me, Carl. You know dern well you control a working majority. Off the record, what do you say?"

      "Well, D.D.-off the record-you can't get any X-fuel, so why get a license?"

      "Let me worry about that."

      "Mmmm . . we weren't required by law to follow every millicurie of X-fuel, since it isn't classed as potentially suitable for mass weapons. Just the same, we knew what happened to it. There's none available."

      Harriman kept quiet.

      "In the second place, you can have an X-fuel license, if you wish-for any purpose but rocket fuel."

      "Why the restriction?"

      "You are building a Moon ship, aren't you?"

      "Me?"

      "Don't you fence with me, D.D. It's my business to know things. You can't use X-fuel for rockets, even if you can find it-which you can't." The chairman went to a vault back of his desk and returned with a quarto volume, which he laid in front of Harriman. It was titled: Theoretical Investigation into the Stability of Several Radioisotopic Fuels-With Notes on the Charon-Power-Satellite Disaster. The cover had a serial number and was stamped: SECRET.

      Harriman pushed it away. "I've got no business looking at that-and I wouldn't understand it if I did."

      The chairman grinned. "Very well, I'll tell you what's in it. I'm deliberately tying your hands, D.D., by trusting you with a defense secret-"

      "I won't have it, I tell you!"

      "Don't try to power a space ship with X-fuel, D.D. It's a lovely fuel- but it may go off like a firecracker anywhere out in space. That report tells why."

      "Confound it, we ran the Charon for nearly three years!"

      "You were lucky. It is the official-but utterly confidential-opinion of the government that the Charon set off the power satellite, rather than the satellite setting off the Charon. We had thought it was the other way around at first, and of course it could have been, but there was the disturbing matter of the radar records. It seemed as if the ship had gone up a split second before the satellite. So we made an intensive theoretical investigation. X-fuel is too dangerous for rockets."

      "That's ridiculous! For every pound burned in the Charon there were at least a hundred pounds used in power plants on the surface. How come they didn't explode?"

      "It's a matter of shielding. A rocket necessarily uses less shielding than a stationary plant, but the worst feature is that it operates out in space. The disaster is presumed to have been triggered by primary cosmic radiation. If you like, I'll call in one of the mathematical physicists to elucidate."

      Harriman shook his head. "You know I don't speak the language." He considered. "I suppose that's all there is to it?"

      "I'm afraid so. I'm really sorry." Harriman got up to leave. "Uh, one more thing, D.D.-you weren't thinking of approaching any of my subordinate colleagues, were you?"

      "Of course not. Why should I?"

      "I'm glad to hear it. You know, Mr. Harriman, some of our staff may not be the most brilliant scientists in the world-it's very hard to keep a first-class scientist happy in the conditions of government service. But there is one thing I am sure of; all of them are utterly incorruptible. Knowing that, I would take it as a personal affront if anyone tried to influence one of my people-a very personal affront."

      "So?"

      "Yes. By the way, I used to box light-heavyweight in college. I've kept it up."

      "Hmmm . . . well, I never went to college. But I play a fair game of poker." Harriman suddenly grinned. "I won't tamper with your boys, Carl. It would be too much like offering a bribe to a starving man. Well, so long."

      When Harriman got back to his office he called in one of his confidential clerks. "Take another coded message to Mr. Montgomery. Tell him to ship the stuff to Panama City, rather than to the States." He started to dictate another message to Coster, intending to tell him to stop work on the Pioneer, whose skeleton was already reaching skyward on the Colorado prairie, and shift to the Santa Maria, formerly the City of Brisbane.

      He thought better of it. Take-off would have to be outside the United States; with the Atomic Energy Commission acting stuffy, it would not do to try to move the Santa Maria: it would give the show away.

      Nor could she be moved without refitting her for chem-powered flight. No, he would have another ship of the Brisbane class taken out of service and sent to Panama, and the power plant of the Santa Maria could be disassembled and shipped there, too. Coster could have the new ship ready in six weeks, maybe sooner . . . and he, Coster, and LeCroix would start for the Moon!

      The devil with worries over primary cosmic rays! The Charon operated for three years, didn't she? They would make the trip, they would prove it could be done, then, if safer fuels were needed, there would be the incentive to dig them out. The important thing was to do it, make the trip. If Columbus had waited for decent ships, we'd all still be in Europe. A man had to take some chances or he never got anywhere.

      Contentedly he started drafting the messages that would get the new scheme underway.

      He was interçupted by a secretary. "Mr. Harriman, Mr. Montgomery wants to speak to you."

      "Eh? Has he gotten my code already?"

      "I don't know, sir."

      "Well, put him on."

      Montgomery had not received the second message. But he had news for Harriman:Costa Rica had sold all its X-fuel to the English Ministry of Power, soon after the disaster. There was not an ounce of it left, neither in Costa Rica, nor in England.

      Harriman sat and moped for several minutes after Montgomery had cleared the screen. Then he called Coster. "Bob? Is LeCroix there?"

      "Right here-we were about to go out to dinner together. Here he is, now."

      "Howdy, Les. Les, that was a good brain storm of yours, but it didn't work. Somebody stole the baby."

      "Eh? Oh, I get you. I'm sorry."

      "Don't ever waste time being sorry. We'll go ahead as originally planned. We'll get there!"

      "Sure we will."

CHAPTER SEVEN

FROM THE JUNE ISSUE of Popular Technics magazine: "URANIUM PROSPECTING ON THE MOON-A Fact Article about a soon-to-come Major Industry."

      From HOLIDAY: "Honeymoon on the Moon-A Discussion of the Miracle Resort that your children will enjoy, as told to our travel editor."

      From the American Sunday Magazine: "DIAMONDS ON THE MOON?-A World Famous Scientist Shows Why Diamonds Must Be Common As Pebbles in the Lunar Craters."

      "Of course, Clem, I don't know anything about electronics, but here is the way it was explained to me. You can hold the beam of a television broadcast down to a degree or so these days, can't you?"

      "Yes-if you use a big enough reflector."

      "You'll have plenty of elbow room. Now Earth covers a space two degrees wide, as seen from the Moon. Sure, it's quite a distance away, but you'd have no power losses and absolutely perfect and unchanging conditions for transmission. Once you made your set-up, it wouldn't be any more expensive than broadcasting from the top of a mountain here, and a derned sight less expensive than keeping copters in the air from coast to coast, the way you're having to do now."

      "It's a fantastic scheme, Delos."

      "What's fantastic about it? Getting to the Moon is my worry, not yours. Once we are there, there's going to be television back to Earth, you can bet your shirt on that. It's a natural set-up for line-of-sight transmission. If you aren't interested, I'll have to find someone who is."

      "I didn't say I wasn't interested."

      "Well, make up your mind. Here's another thing, Clem-I don't want to go sticking my nose into your business, but haven't you had a certain amount of trouble since you lost the use of the power satellite as a relay station?"

      "You know the answer; don't needle me. Expenses have gone out of sight without any improvement in revenue."

      "That wasn't quite what I meant. How about censorship?"

      The television executive threw up his hands. "Don't say that word! How anybody expects a man to stay in business with every two-bit wowser in the country claiming a veto over wLhat we can say and can't say and what we can show and what we can't show-it's enough to make you throw up. The whole principle is wrong; it's like demanding that grown men live on skim milk because the baby can't eat steak. If I were able to lay my hands on those confounded, prurient-minded, slimy-"

      "Easy! Easy!" Harriman interrupted. "Did it ever occur to you that there is absolutely no way to interfere with a telecast from the Moon-and that boards of censorship on Earth won't have jurisdiction in any case?"

      "What? Say that again."

      "LIFE goes to the Moon.' LIFE-TIME Inc. is proud to announce that arrangements have been completed to bring LIFE'S readers a personally conducted tour of the first trip to our satellite. In place of the usual weekly feature 'LIFE Goes to a Party' there will commence, immediately after the return of the first successful-"

      "ASSURANCE FOR THE NEW AGE"

      (An excerpt from an advertisement of the North Atlantic Mutual Insurance and Liability Company)

      "-the same looking-to-the-future that protected our policy-holders after the Chicago Fire, after the San Francisco Fire, after every disaster since the War of 1812, now reaches out to insure you from unexpected loss even on the Moon-"

      "THE UNBOUNDED FRONTIERS OF TECHNOLOGY"

      "When the Moon ship Pioneer climbs skyward on a ladder of flame, twenty-seven essential devices in her 'innards' will be powered by especiallyengineered DELTA batteries-"

      "Mr. Harriman, could you come out to the field?"

      "What's up, Bob?"

      "Trouble," Coster answered briefly.

      "What sort of trouble?"

      Coster hesitated. "I'd rather not talk about it by screen. If you can't come, maybe Les and I had better come there."

      "I'll be there this evening."

      When Harriman got there he saw that LëCroix's impassive face concealed bitterness, Coster looked stubborn and defensive. He waited until the three were alone in Coster's workroom before he spoke. "Let's have it, boys."

      LeCroix looked at Coster. The engineer chewed his lip and said, "Mr. Harriman, you know the stages this design has been through."

      "More or less."

      "We had to give up the catapult idea. Then we had this-" Coster rummaged on his desk, pulled out a perspective treatment of a four-step rocket, large but rather graceful."Theoretically it was a possibility; practically it cut things too fine. By the time the stress group boys and the auxiliary group and the control group got through adding things we were forced to come to this-" He hauled out another sketch; it was basically like the first, but squattier, almost pyramidal. "We added a fifth stage as a ring around the fourth stage. We even managed to save some weight by using most of the auxiliary and control equipment for the fourth stage to control the fifth stage. And it still had enough sectional density to punch through the atmosphere with no important drag, even if it was clumsy."

      Harriman nodded. "You know, Bob, we're going to have to get away from the step rocket idea before we set up a schedule run to the Moon."

      "I don't see how you can avoid it with chem-powered rockets."

      "If you had a decent catapult you could put a single-stage chem-powered rocket into an orbit around the Earth, couldn't you?"

      "Sure."

      "That's what we'll do. Then it will refuel in that orbit."

      "The old space-station set-up. I suppose that makes sense-in fact I know it does. Only the ship wouldn't refuel and continue on to the Moon. The economical thing would be to have special ships that never landed anywhere make the jump from there to another fueling station around the Moon. Then-"

      LeCroix displayed a most unusual impatience. "AJ1 that doesn't mean anything now. Get on with the story, Bob."

      "Right," agreed Harriman.

      "Well, this model should have done it. And, damn it, it still should do it." Harriman looked puzzled. "But, Bob, that's the approved design, isn't it? That's what you've got two-thirds built right out there on the field."

      "Yes." Coster looked stricken. "But it won't do it. It won't work."

      "Why not?"

      "Because I've had to add in too much dead weight, that's why. Mr. Harriman, you aren't an engineer; you've no idea how fast the performance falls off when you have to clutter up a ship with anything but fuel and power plant. Take the landing arrangements for the fifth-stage power ring. You use that stage for a minute and a half, then you throw it away. But you don't dare take a chance of it falling on Wichita or Kansas City. We have to include a parachute sequence. Even then we have to plan on tracking it by radar and cutting the shrouds by radio control when it's over empty countryside and not too high. That means more weight, besides the parachute. By the time we are through, we don't get a net addition of a mile a second out of that stage. It's not enough."

      Harriman stirred in his chair. "Looks like we made a mistake in trying to launch it from the States. Suppose we took off from someplace unpopulated, say the Brazil coast, and let the booster stages fall in the Atlantic; how much would that save you?"

      Coster looked off in the distance, then took out a slide rule. "Might work."

      "How much of a chore will it be to move the ship, at this stage?"

      "Well . . . it would have to be disassembled completely; nothing less would do. I can't give you a cost estimate off hand, but it would be expensive."

      "How long would it take?"

      "Hmm. . .shucks, Mr. Harriman, I can't answer off hand. Two years- eighteen months, with luck. We'd have to prepare a site. We'd have to build shops."

      Harriman thought about it, although he knew the answer in his heart. His shoe string, big as it was, was stretched to the danger point. He couldn't keep up the promotion, on talk alone, for another two years; he had to have a successful flight and soon-or the whole jerry-built financial structure would burst. "No good, Bob."

      "I was afraid of that. Well, I tried to add still a sixth stage." He held up another sketch. "You see that monstrosity? I reached the point of diminishing returns. The final effective velocity is actually less with this abortion than with the five-step job."

      "Does that mean you are whipped, Bob? You can't build a Moon ship?"

      "No, I-"

      LeCroix said suddenly, "Clear out Kansas."

      "Eh?" asked Harriman.

      "Clear everybody out of Kansas and Eastern Colorado. Let the fifth and fourth sections fall anywhere in that area. The third section falls in the Atlantic; the second section goes into a permanent orbit-and the ship itself goes on to the Moon. You could do it if you didn't have to waste weight on the parachuting of the fifth and fourth sections. Ask Bob."

      "So? How about it, Bob?"

      "That's what I said before. It was the parasitic penalties that whipped us. The basic design is all right."

      "Hmmm. . . somebody hand me an Atlas." Harriman looked up Kansas and Colorado, did some rough figuring. He stared off into space, looking surprisingly, for the moment, as Coster did when the engineer was thinking about his own work. Finally he said, "It won't work."

      "Why not?"

      "Money. I told you not to worry about money-for the ship. But it would cost upward of six or seven million dollars to evacuate that area even for a day. We'd have to settle nuisance suits out of hand; we couldn't wait. And there would be a few diehards who just couldn't move anyhow."

      LeCroix said savagely, "If the crazy fools won't move, let them take their chances."

      "I know how you feel, Les. But this project is too big to hide and too big to move. Unless we protect the bystanders we'll be shut down by court order and force. I can't buy all the judges in two states. Some of them wouldn't be for sale."

      "It was a nice try, Les," consoled Coster.

      "I thought it might be an answer for all of us," the pilot answered.

      Harriman said, "You were starting to mention another solution, Bob?" Coster looked embarrassed. "You know the plans for the ship itself-a three-man job, space and supplies for three."

      "Yes. What are you driving at?"

      "It doesn't have to be three men. Split the first step into two parts, cut the ship down to the bare minimum for one man and jettison the remainder. That's the only way I see to make this basic design work." He got out another sketch. "See? One man and supplies for less than a week. No airlock- the pilot stays in his pressure suit. No galley. No bunks. The bare minimum to keep one man alive for a maximum of two hundred hours. It will work."

      "It will work," repeated LeCroix, looking at Coster.

      Harriman looked at the sketch with an odd, sick feeling at his stomach. Yes, no doubt it would work-and for the purposes of the promotion it did not matter whether one man or three went to the Moon and returned. Just to do it was enough; he was dead certain that one successful flight would cause money to roll in so that there would be capital to develop to the point of practical, passenger-carrying ships.

      The Wright brothers had started with less.

      "If that is what I have to put up with, I suppose I have to," he said slowly. Coster looked relieved. "Fine! But there is one more hitch. You know the conditions under which I agreed to tackle this job-I was to go along. Now Les here waves a contract under my nose and says he has to be the pilot."

      "It's not just that," LeCroix countered. "You're no pilot, Bob. You'll kill yourself and ruin the whole enterprise, just through bull-headed stubbornness."

      "I'll learn to fly it. After all, I designed it. Look here, Mr. Harriman, I hate to let you in for a suit-Les says he will sue-but my contract antedates his. I intend to enforce it."

      "Don't listen to him, Mr. Harriman. Let him do the suing. I'll fly that ship and bring her back. He'll wreck it."

      "Either I go or I don't build the ship," Coster said flatly.

      Harriman motioned both of them to keep quiet. "Easy, easy, both of you. You can both sue me if it gives you any pleasure. Bob, don't talk nonsense; at this stage I can hire other engineers to finish the job. You tell me it has to be just one man."

      "That's right."

      "You're looking at him."

      They both stared.

      "Shut your jaws," Harriman snapped. "What's funny about that? You both knew I meant to go. You don't think I went to all this trouble just to give you two a ride to the Moon, do you? I intend to go. What's wrong with me as a pilot? I'm in good health, my eyesight is all right, I'm still smart enough to learn what I have to learn. If I have to drive my own buggy, I'll do it. I won't step aside for anybody, not anybody, d'you hear me?"

      Coster got his breath first. "Boss, you don't know what you are saying." Two hours later they were still wrangling. Most of the time Harriman had stubbornly sat still, refusing to answer their arguments. At last he went out of the room for a few minutes, on the usual pretext. When he came back in he said, "Bob, what do you weigh?"

      "Me? A little over two hundred."

      "Close to two twenty, I'd judge. Les, what do you weigh?"

      "One twenty-six."

      "Bob, design the ship for a net load of one hundred and twenty-six pounds."

      "Huh? Now wait a minute, Mr. Harriman-"

      "Shut up! If I can't learn to be a pilot in six weeks, neither can you."

      "But I've got the mathematics and the basic knowledge to-"

      "Shut up I said! Les has spent as long learning his profession as you have learning yours. Can he become an engineer in six weeks? Then what gave you the conceit to think that you can learn his job in that time? I'm not going to have you wrecking my ship to satisfy your swollen ego. Anyhow, you gave out the real key to it when you were discussing the design. The real limiting factor is the actual weight of the passenger or passengers, isn't it? Everything-everything works in proportion to that one mass. Right?"

      "Yes, but-"

      "Right or wrong?"

      "Well . . . yes, that's right. I just wanted-"

      "The smaller man can live on less water, he breathes less air, he occunies less space. Les goes." Harriman walked over and put a hand on Coster's shoulder. "Don't take it hard, son. It can't be any worse on you than it is on me. This trip has got to succeed-and that means you and I have got to give up the honor of being the first man on the Moon. But I promise you this: we'll go on the second trip, we'll go with Les as our private chauffeur. It will be the first of a lot of passenger trips. Look, Bob-you can be a big man in this game, if you'll play along now. How would you like to be chief engineer of the first lunar colony?"

      Coster managed to grin. "It might not be so bad."

      "You'd like it. Living on the Moon will be an engineering problem; you and I have talked about it. How'd you like to put your theories to work? Build the first city? Build the big observatory we'll found there? Look around and know that you were the man who had done it?"

      Coster was definitely adjusting himself to it. "You make it sound good. Say, what will you be doing?"

      "Me? Well, maybe I'll be the first mayor of Luna City." It was a new thought to him; he savored it. "The Honorable Delos David Harriman, Mayor of Luna City. Say, I like that! You know, I've never held any sort of public office; I've just owned things." He looked around. "Everything settled?"

      "I guess so," Coster said slowly. Suddenly he stuck his hand out at LeCroix. "You fly her, Les; I'll build her."

      LeCroix grabbed his hand. "It's a deal. And you and the Boss get busy and start making plans for the next job-big enough for all of us."

      "Right!"

      Harriman put his hand on top of theirs. "That's the way I like to hear you talk. We'll stick together and we'll found Luna City together."

      "I think we ought to call it "Harriman," LeCroix said seriously.

      "Nope, I've thought of it as Luna City ever since I was a kid; Luna City it's going to be. Maybe we'll put Harriman Square in the middle of it," he added.

      "I'll mark it that way in the plans," agreed Coster.

      Harriman left at once. Despite the solution he was terribly depressed and did not want his two colleagues to see it. It had been a Pyrrhic victory; he had saved the enterprise but he felt like an animal who has gnawed off his own leg to escape a trap.

CHAPTER EIGHT

STRONG WAS ALONE in the offices of the partnership when he got a call from Dixon. "George, I was looking for D.D. Is he there?"

      "No, he's back in Washington-something about clearances. I expect him back soon."

      "Hmmm. . . . Entenza and I want to see him. We're coming over." They arrived shortly. Entenza was quite evidently very much worked up over something; Dixon looked sleekly impassive as usual. After greetings Dixon waited a moment, then said, "Jack, you had some business to transact, didn't you?"

      Entenza jumped, then snatched a draft from his pocket.

      "Oh, yes! George, I'm not going to have to pro-rate after all. Here's my payment to bring my share up to full payment to date."

      Strong accepted it. "I know that Delos will be pleased." He tucked it in a drawer.

      "Well," said Dixon sharply, "aren't you going to receipt for it?"

      "If Jack wants a receipt. The cancelled draft will serve." However, Strong wrote out a receipt without further comment; Entenza accepted it.

      They waited a while. Presently Dixon said, "George, you're in this pretty deep, aren't you?"

      "Possibly."

      "Want to hedge your bets?"

      "How?"

      "Well, candidly, I want to protect myself. Want to sell one half of one. percent of your share?"

      Strong thought about it. In fact he was worried-worried sick. The presence of Dixon's auditor had forced them to keep on a cash basis-and only Strong knew how close to the line that had forced the partners. "Why do you want it?"

      "Oh, I wouldn't use it to interfere with Delos's operations. He's our man; we're backing him. But I would feel a lot safer if I had the right to call a halt if he tried to commit us to something we couldn't pay for. You know Delos; he's an incurable optimist. We ought to have some sort of a brake on him."

      Strong thought about it. The thing that hurt him was that he agreed with everything Dixon said; he had stood by and watched while Delos dissipated two fortunes, painfully built up through the years. D.D. no longer seemed to care. Why, only this morning he had refused even to look at a report on the H & S automatic household switch-after dumping it on Strong.

      Dixon leaned forward. "Name a price, George. I'll be generous."

      Strong squared his stooped shoulders. "I'll sell-"

      "Good!"

      "-if Delos okays it. Not otherwise."

      Dixon muttered something. Enteuza snorted. The conversation might have gone acrimoniously further, had not Harriman walked in.

      No one said anything about the proposal to Strong. Strong inquired about the trip; Harriman pressed a thumb and finger together. "All in the groove! But it gets more expensive to do business in Washington every day." He turned to the others. "How's tricks? Any special meaning to the assemblage? Are we in executive session?"

      Dixon turned to Entenza. "Tell him, Jack."

      Entenza faced Harriman. "What do you mean by selling television rights?"

      Harriman cocked a brow. "And why not?"

      "Because you promised them to me, that's why. That's the original agreement; I've got it in writing."

      "Better take another look at the agreement, Jack. And don't go off halfcocked. You have the exploitation rights for radio, television, and other amusement and special feature ventures in connection with the first trip to the Moon. You've still got 'em. Including broadcasts from the ship, provided we are able to make any." He decided that this was not a good time to mention that weight considerations had already made the latter impossible; the Pioneer would carry no electronic equipment of any sort not needed in astrogation. "What I sold was the franchise to erect a-television station on the Moon, later. By the way, it wasn't even an exclusive franchise, although Clem Haggerty thinks it is. If you want to buy one yourself, we can accommodate you."

      "Buy it! Why you-"

      "Wups! Or you can have it free, if you can get Dixon and George to agree that you are entitled to it. I won't be a tightwad. Anything else?"

      Dixon cut in. "Just where do we stand now, Delos?"

      "Gentlemen, you can take it for granted that the Pioneer will leave on schedule-next Wednesday. And now, if you will excuse me, I'm on my way to Peterson Field."

      After he had left his three associates sat in silence for some time, Entenza muttering to himself, Dixon apparently thinking, and Strong just waiting. Presently Dixon said, "How about that fractional share, George?"

      "You didn't see fit to mention it to Delos."

      "I see." Dixon carefully deposited an ash. "He's a strange man, isn't he?" Strong shifted around. "Yes."

      "How long have you known him?"

      "Let me see-he came to work for me in-"

      "He worked for you?"

      "For several months. Then we set up our first company." Strong thought back about it. "I suppose he had a power complex, even then."

      "No," Dixon said carefully. "No, I wouldn't call it a power complex. It's more of a Messiah complex."

      Entenza looked up. "He's a crooked son of a bitch, that's what he is!"

      Strong looked at him mildly. "I'd rather you wouldn't talk about him that way. I'd really rather you wouldn't."

      "Stow it, Jack," ordered Dixon. "You might force George to take a poke at you. One of the odd things about him," went on Dixon, "is that he seems to be able to inspire an almost feudal loyalty. Take yourself. I know you are cleaned out, George-yet you won't let me rescue you. That goes beyond logic; it's personal."

      Strong nodded. "He's an odd man. Sometimes I think he's the last of the Robber Barons."

      Dixon shook his head. "Not the last. The last of them opened up the American West. He's the first of the new Robber Barons-and you and I won't see the end of it. Do you ever read Carlyle?"

      Strong nodded again. "I see what you mean, the 'Hero' theory, but I don't necessarily agree with it."

      "There's something to it, though," Dixon answered. "Truthfully, I don't think Delos knows what he is doing. He's setting up a new imperialism.

      There'll be the devil to pay before it's cleaned up." He stood up. "Maybe we should have waited. Maybe we should have balked him-if we could have. Well, it's done. We're on the merry-go-round and we can't get off. I hope we enjoy the ride.. Come on, Jack."

CHAPTER NINE

THE COLORADO p~ArRIE was growin'~ dusky. The Sun was behind the peak and the broad white face of Luna, full and round, was rising in the east. In the middle of Peterson Field the Pioneer thrust toward the sky. A barbedwire fence, a thousand yards from its base in all directions, held back the crowds. Just inside the barrier guards patrolled restlessly. More guards circulated through the crowd. Inside the fence, close to it, trunks and trailers for camera, sound, and television equipment were parked and, at the far ends of cables, remote-control pick-ups were located both near and far from the ship on all sides. There were other trucks near the ship and a stir of organized activity.

      Harriman waited in Coster's office; Coster himself was out on the field, and Dixon and Entenza had a room to themselves. LeCroix, still in a drugged sleep, was in the bedroom of Coster's on-the-job living quarters.

      There was a stir and a challenge outside the door. Harriman opened it a crack. "If that's another reporter, tell him 'no.' Send him to Mr. Montgomery across the way. Captain LeCroix will grant no unauthorized interviews."

      "Delos! Let me in."

      "Oh-you, George. Come in. We've been hounded to death."

      Strong came in and handed Harriman a large and heavy handbag. "Here it is."

      "Here is what?"

      "The cancelled covers for the philatelic syndicate. You forgot them. That's half a million dollars, Delos," he complained. "If I hadn't noticed them in your coat locker we'd have been in the soup."

      Harriman composed his features. "George, you're a brick, that's what you are."

      "Shall I put them in the ship myself?" Strong said anxiously.

      "Huh? No, no. Les will handle them." He glanced at his watch. "We're about to waken him. I'll take charge of the covers." He took the bag and added, "Don't come in now. You'll have a chance to say goodbye on the field."

      Harriman went next door, shut the door behind him, waited for the nurse to give the sleeping pilot a counteracting stimulant by injection, then chased her out. When he turned around the pilot was sitting up, rubbing his eyes. "How do you feel, Les?"

      "Fine. So this is it."

      "Yup. And we're all rooting for you, boy. Look, you've got to go out and face them in a couple of minutes. Everything is ready-but I've got a couple of things I've got to say to you."

      "Yes?"

      "See this bag?" Harriman rapidly explained what it was and what it signified.

      LeCroix looked dismayed. "But I can't take it, Delos; It's all figured to the last ounce."

      "Who said you were going to take it? Of course you can't; it must weigh sixty, seventy pounds. I just plain forgot it. Now here's what we do: for the time being I'll just hide it in here-" Harriman stuffed the bag far back into a clothes closet. "When you land, I'll be right on your tail. Then we pull a sleight-of-hand trick and you fetch it out of the ship."

      LeCroix shook his head ruefully. "Delos, you beat me. Well, I'm in no mood to argue."

      "I'm glad you're not; otherwise I'd go to jail for a measly half million dollars. We've already spent that money. Anyhow, it doesn't matter," he went on. "Nobody but you and me will know it-and the stamp collectors will get their money's worth." He looked at the younger man as if anxious for his approval.

      "Okay, okay," LeCroix answered. "Why should I care what happens to a stamp collector-tonight? Let's get going."

      "One more thing," said Harriman and took out a small cloth bag. "This you take with you-and the weight has been figured in. I saw to it. Now here is what you do with it." He gave detailed and very earnest instructions.

      LeCroix was puzzled. "Do I hear you straight? I let it be found-then I tell the exact truth about what happened?"

      "That's right."

      "Okay." LeCroix zipped the little bag into a pocket of his coveralls. "Let's get out to the field. H-hour minus twenty-one minutes already."

      Strong joined Harriman in the control blockhouse after LeCroix had gone up inside the ship. "Did they get aboard?" he demanded anxiously. "LeCroix wasn't carrying anything."

      "Oh, sure," said Harriman. "I sent them ahead. Better take your place. The ready flare has already gone up."

      Dixon, Entenza, the Governor of Colorado, the Vice-President of the United States, and a round dozen of V.I.P.'s were already seated at periscopes, mounted in slits, on a balcony above the control level. Strong and Harriman climbed a ladder and took the two remaining chairs.

      Harriman began to sweat and realized he was trembling. Through his periscope out in front he could see the ship; from below he could hear Coster's voice, nervously checking departure station reports. Muted through a speaker by him was a running commentary of one of the newscasters reporting the show. Harriman himself was the-well, the admiral, he decided-of the operation, but there was nothing more he could do, but wait, watch, and try to pray.

      A second flare arched up in the sky, burst into red and green. Five minutes.

      The seconds oozed away. At minus two minutes Harriman realized that he could not stand to watch through a tiny slit; he had to be outside, take part in it himself-he had to. He climbed down, hurried to the exit of the blockhouse. Coster glanced around, looked startled, but did not try to stop him; Coster could not leave his post no matter what happened. Harriman elbowed the guard aside and went outdoors.

      To the east the ship towered skyward, her slender pyramid sharp black against the full Moon. He waited.

      And waited.

      What had gone wrong? There had remained less than two minutes when he had come out; he was sure of that-yet there she stood, silent, dark, unmoving. There was not a sound, save the distant ululation of sirens warning the spectators behind the distant fence. Harriman felt his own heart stop, his breath dry up in his throat. Something had failed. Failure.

      A single flare rocket burst from the top of the blockhouse; a flame licked at the base of the ship.

      It spread, there was a pad of white fire around the base. Slowly, almost lumberingly, the Pioneer lifted, seemed to hover for a moment, balanced on a pillar of fire-then reached for the sky with acceleration so great that she was above him almost at once, overhead at the zenith, a dazzling circle of flame. So quickly was she above, rather than out in front, that it seemed as if she were arching back over him and must surely fall on him. Instinctively and futilely he threw a hand in front of his face.

      The sound reached him.

      Not as sound-it was a white noise, a roar in all frequencies, sonic, subsonic, supersonic, so incredibly loaded with energy that it struck him in the chest. He heard it with his teeth and with his bones as well as with his ears. He crouched his knees, bracing against it.

      Following the sound at the snail's pace of a hurricane came the backwash of the splash. It ripped at his clothing, tore his breath from his lips. He stumbled blindly back, trying to reach the lee of the concrete building, was knocked down.

      He picked himself up coughing and strangling and remembered to look at the sky. Straight overhead was a dwindling star. Then it was gone.

      He went into the blockhouse.

      The room was a babble of high-tension, purposeful confusion. Harriman's ears, still ringing, heard a speaker blare, "Spot One! Spot One to blockhouse! Step five loose on schedule-ship and step five showing separate blips-" and Coster's voice, high and angry, cutting in with, "Get Track One! Have they picked up step five yet? Are they tracking it?"

      In the background the news commentator was still blowing his top. "A great day, folks, a great day! The mighty Pioneer, climbing like an angel of the Lord, flaming sword at hand, is even now on her glorious way to our sister planet. Most of you have seen her departure on your screens; I wish you could have seen it as I did, arching up into the evening sky, bearing her precious load of-"

      "Shut that thing off!" ordered Coster, then to the visitors on the observation platform, "And pipe down up there! Quiet!"

      The Vice-President of the United States jerked his head around, closed his mouth. He remembered to smile. The other V.I.P.'s shut up, then resumed again in muted whispers. A girl's voice cut through the silence, "Track One to Blockhouse-step five tracking high, plus two." There was a stir in the corner. There a large canvas hood shielded a heavy sheet of Plexiglass from direct light. The sheet was mounted vertically and was edge-lighted; it displayed a coordinate map of Colorado and Kansas in fine white lines; the cities and towns glowed red. Unevacuated farms were tiny warning dots of red light.

      A man behind the transparent map touched it with a grease pencil; the reported location of step five shone out. In front of the map screen a youngish man sat quietly in a chair, a pear-shaped switch in his hand, his thumb lightly resting on the button. He was a bombardier, borrowed from the Air Forces; when he pressed the switch, a radio-controlled circuit in step five should cause the shrouds of step five's landing 'chute to be cut and let it plummet to Earth. He was working from radar reports aloi~e with no fancy computing bombsight to think for him. He was working almost by instinct- or, rather, by the accumulated subconscious knowledge of his trade, integrating in his brain the meager data spread before him, deciding where the tons of step five would land if he were to press his switch at any particular instant. He seemed unworried.

      "Spot One to Blockhouse!" came a man's voice again. "Step four free on schedule," and almost immediately following, a deeper voice echoed, "Track Two, tracking step four, instantaneous altitude nine-five-one miles, predicted vector."

      No one paid any attention to Harriman.

      Under the hood the observed trajectory of step five grew in shining dots of grease, near to, but not on, the dotted line of its predicted path. Reaching out from each location dot was drawn a line at right angles, the reported altitude for that location.

      The quiet man watching the display suddenly pressed down hard on his switch. He then stood up, stretched, and said, "Anybody got a cigaret?" "Track Two!" he was answered. "Step four-first impact prediction-forty miles west of Charleston, South Carolina."

      "Repeat!" yelled Coster.

      The speaker blared out again without pause, "Correction, correction- forty miles east, repeat east."

      Coster sighed. The sigh was cut short by a report. "Spot One to Blockhouse-step three free, minus five seconds," and a talker at Coster's control desk called out, "Mr. Coster, Mister Coster-Palomar Observatory wants to talk to you."

      "Tell 'em to go-no, tell 'em to wait." Immediately another voice cut in with, "Track One, auxiliary range Fox-Step one about to strike near Dodge City, Kansas~"

      "How near?"

      There was no answer. Presently the voice of Track One proper said, "Impact reported approximately fifteen miles southwest of Dodge City."

      "Casualties?"

      Spot One broke in before Track One could answer, "Step two free, step two free-the ship is now on its own."

      "Mr. Coster-please, Mr. Coster-"

      And a totally new voice: "Spot Two to Blockhouse-we are now tracking the ship. Stand by for reported distances and bearings. Stand by-"

      "Track Two to Blockhouse-step four will definitely land in Atlantic, estimated point of impact oh-five-seven miles east of Charleston bearing ohnine-three. I will repeat-"

      Coster looked around irritably. "Isn't there any drinking water anywhere in this dump?"

      "Mr. Coster, please-Palomar says they've just got to talk to you."

      Harriman eased over to the door and stepped out. He suddenly felt very much let down, utterly weary, and depressed.

      The field looked strange without the ship. He had watched it grow; now suddenly it was gone. The Moon, still rising, seemed oblivious-and space travel was as remote a dream as it had been in his boyhood.

      There were several tiny figures prowling around, the flash apron where the ship had stood-souvenir hunters, he thought contemptuously. Someone came up to him in the gloom. "Mr. Harriman?"

      "Eh?"

      "Hopkins-with the A.P. How about a statement?"

      "Uh? No, no comment. I'm bushed."

      "Oh, now, just a word. How does it feel to have backed the first successful Moon flight-if it is successful."

      "It will be successful." He thought a moment, then squared his tired shoulders and said, "Tell them that this is the beginning of the human race's greatest era. Tell them that every one of them will have a chance to follow in Captain LeCroix's footsteps, seek out new planets, wrest a home for themselves in new lands. Tell them that this means new frontiers, a shot in the arm for prosperity. It means-" He ran down. "That's all tonight. I'm whipped, son. Leave me alone, will you?"

      Presently Côster came out, followed by the V.I.P.'s. Harriman went up to Coster. "Everything all right?"

      "Sure. Why shouldn't it be? Track three followed him out to the limit of range-all in the groove." Coster added, "Step five killed a cow when it grounded."

      "Forget it-we'll have steak for breakfast." Harriman then had to make conversation with the Governor and the Vice-President, had to escort them out to their ship. Dixon and Entenza left together, less formally; at last Coster and Harriman were alone save for subordinates too junior to constitute a strain and for guards to protect them from the crowds. "Where you headed, Bob?"

      "Up to the Broadmoor and about a week's sleep. How about you?"

      "if you don't mind, I'll doss down in your apartment."

      "Help yourself. Sleepy pills in the bathroom."

      "I won't need them." They had a drink together in Coster's quarters, talked aimlessly, then Coster ordered a copter cab and went to the hotel. Harriman went to bed, got up, read a day-old copy of the Denver Post filled with pictures of the Pioneer, finally gave up and took two of Coster's sleeping capsules.

CHAPTER TEN

SOMEONE WAS SHAKING HIM. "Mr. Harriman! Wake up-Mr. Caster is on the screen."

      "Huh? Wazza? Oh, all right." He got up and padded to the phone. Caster was :ooking tousie-headea and excited. "Hey, Boss-he made it!"

      "Huh? What do you mean?"

      "Palomar just called me. They saw the mark and now they've spotted the ship itself. He-"

      "Wait a minute, Bob. Slow up. He can't be there yet. He just left last night."

      Coster looked disconcerted. "What's the matter, Mr. Harriman? Don't you feel well? He left Wednesday."

      Vaguely, Harriman began to be oriented. No, the take-off had not been the night before-fuzzily he recalled a drive up into the mountains, a day spent dozing in the sun, some sort of a party at which he had drunk too much. What day was today? He didn't know. If LeCroix had landed on the Moon, then-never mind. "It's all right, Bob-I was half asleep. I guess I dreamed the take-off all over again. Now tell me the news, slowly."

      Coster started over. "LeCroix has landed, just west of Archimedes crater. They can see his ship, from Palomar. Say that was a great stunt you thought up, marking the spot with carbon black. Les must have covered two acres with it. They say it shines out like a billboard, through the Big Eye."

      "Maybe we ought to run down and have a look. No-later," he amended. "We'll be busy."

      "I don't see what more we can do, Mr. Harriman. We've got twelve of our best ballistic computers calculating possible routes for you now."

      Harriman started to tell the man to put on another twelve, switched off the screen instead. He was still at Peterson Field, with one of Skyways' best stratoships waiting for him outside, waiting to take him to whatever point on the globe LeCroix might ground. LeCroix was in the upper stratosphere, had been there for more than twenty-four hours. The pilot was slowly, cautiously wearing out his terminal velocity, dissipating the incredible kinetic energy as shock wave and radiant heat.

      They had tracked him by radar around the globe and around again-and again . . . yet there was no way of knowing just where and what sort of landing the pilot would choose to risk. Harriman listened to the running radar reports and cursed the fact that they had elected to save the weight of radio equipment.

      The radar figures started coming closer together. The voice broke off and started again: "He's in his landing glide!"

      "Tell the field to get ready!" shouted Harriman. He held his breath and waited. After endless seconds another voice cut in with, "The Moon ship is now landing. It will ground somewhere west of Chihuahua in Old Mexico."

      Harriman started for the door at a run.

      Coached by radio en route, Harriman's pilot spotted the Pioneer incredibly small against the desert sand. He put his own ship quite close to it, in a beautiful landing. Harriman was fumbling at the cabin door before the ship was fairly stopped.

      LeCroix was sitting on the ground, resting his back against a skid of his ship and enjoying the shade of its stubby triangular wings. A paisano sheepherder stood facing him, open-mouthed. As Harriman trotted out and lumbered toward him LeCroix stood up, flipped a cigaret butt away and said, "Hi, Boss!"

      "Les!" The older man threw his arms around the younger. "It's good to see you, boy."

      "It's good to see you. Pedro here doesn't speak my language." LeCroix glanced around; there was no one else nearby but the pilot of Harriman's ship. "Where's the gang? Where's Bob?"

      "I didn't wait. They'll surely be along in a few minutes-hey, there they come now!" It was another stratoship, plunging in to a landing. Harriman turned to his pilot. "Bill-go over and meet them."

      "Huh? They'll come, never fear."

      "Do as I say."

      "You're the doctor." The pilot trudged through the sand, his back expressing disapproval. LeCroix looked puzzled. "Quick, Les-help me with this."

      "This" was the five thousand cancelled envelopes which were supposed to have been to the Moon. They got them out of Harriman's stratoship and into the Moon ship, there to be stowed in an empty food locker, while their actions were still shielded from the later arrivals by the bulk of the strataship. "Whew!" said Harriman. "That was close. Half a million dollars. We need it, Les."

      "Sure, but look, Mr. Harriman, the di-"

      "Sssh! The others are coming. How about the other business? Ready with your act?"

      "Yes. But I was trying to tell you-"

      "Quiet!"

      It was not their colleagues; it was a shipload of reporters, camera men, mike men, commentators, technicians. They swarmed over them.

      Harriman waved to them jauntily. "Help yourselves, boys. Get a lot of pictures. Climb through the ship. Make yourselves at home. Look at anything you want to. But go easy on Captain LeCroix-he's tired."

      Another ship had landed, this time with Caster, Dixon and Strong. Entenza showed up in his own chartered ship and began bossing the TV, pix, and radio men, in the course of which he almost had a fight with an unauthorized camera crew. A large copter transport grounded and spilled out nearly a platoon of khaki-clad Mexican troops. Fom somewhere-out of the sand apparently-several dozen native peasants showed up. Harriman broke away from reporters, held a quick and expensive discussion with the captain of the local troops and a degree of order was restored in time to save the Pioneer from being picked to pieces.

      "Just let that be!" It was LeCroix's voice, from inside the Pioneer. Harriman waited and listened. "None of your business!" the pilot's voice went on, rising higher, "and put them back!"

      Harriman pushed his way to the door of the ship. "What's the trouble, Les?"

      Inside the cramped cabin, hardly large enough for a TV booth, three men stood, LeCroix and two reporters. All three men looked angry. "What's the trouble, Les?" Harriman repeated.

      LeCroix was holding a small cloth bag which appeared to be empty. Scattered on the pilot's acceleration rest between him and the reporters were several small, dully brilliant stones. A reporter held one such stone up to the light.

      "These guys were poking their noses into things that didn't concern them," LeCroix said angrily.

      The reporter looked at the stone said, "You told us to look at what we liked, didn't you, Mr. Harriman?"

      "Yes."

      "Your pilot here-" He jerked a thumb at LeCroix. "-apparently didn't expect us to find these. He had them hidden in the pads of his chair."

      "What of it?"

      "They're diamonds."

      "What makes you think so?"

      "They're diamonds all right."

      Harriman stopped and unwrapped a cigar. Presently he said, "Those diamonds were where you found them because I put them there."

      A flashlight went off behind Harriman; a voice said, "Hold the rock up higher, Jeff."

      The reporter called Jeff obliged, then said, "That seems an odd thing to do, Mr. Harriman."

      "I was interested in the effect of outer space radiations on raw diamonds. On my orders Captain LeCroix placed that sack of diamonds in the ship."

      Jeff whistled thoughtfully. "You know, Mr. Harriman, if you did not have that explanation, I'd think LeCroix had found the rocks on the Moon and was trying to hold out on you."

      "Print that and you will be sued for libel. I have every confidence in Captain LeCroix. Now give me the diamonds."

      Jeff's eyebrows went up. "But not confidence enough in him to let him keep them,.maybe?"

      "Give me the stones. Then get out."

      Harriman got LeCroix away from the reporters as quickly as possible and into Harriman's own ship. "That's all for now," he told the news and pictures people. "See us at Peterson Field."

      Once the ship raised ground he turned to LeCroix. "You did a beautiful job, Les."

      "That reporter named Jeff must be sort of confused."

      "Eh? Oh, that. No, I mean the flight. You did it. You're head man on this planet."

      LeCroix shrugged it off. "Bob built a good ship. It was a cinch. Now about those diamonds-"

      "Forget the diamonds. You've done your part. We placed those rocks in the ship; now we tell everybody we did-truthful as can be. It's not our fault if they don't believe us."

      "But Mr. Harriman-"

      "What?"

      LeCroix unzipped a pocket in his coveralls, hauled out a soiled handkerchief, knotted into a bag. He untied it-and spilled into Harriman's hands many more diamonds than had been displayed in the ship-larger, finer diamonds.

      Harriman stared at them. He began to chuckle.

      Presently he shoved them back at LeCroix. "Keep them."

      "I figure they belong to all of us."

      "Well, keep them for us, then. And keep your mouth shut about them. No, wait." He picked out two large stones. "I'll have rings made from these two, one for you, one for me. But keep your mouth shut, or they won't be worth anything, except as curiosities."

      It was quite true, he thought. Long ago the diamond syndicate had realized that diamonds in plentiful supply were worth little more than glass, except for industrial uses. Earth had more than enough for that, more than enough for jewels. If Moon diamonds were literally "common as pebbles" then they were just that-pebbles.

      Not worth the expense of bringing them to earth. But now take uranium. If that were plentiful- Harriman sat back and indulged in daydreaming. Presently LeCroix said softly, "You know, Boss, it's wonderful there."

      "Eh? Where?"

      "Why, on the Moon of course. I'm going back. I'm going back just as soon as I can. We've got to get busy on the new ship."

      "Sure, sure! And this time we'll build one big enough for all of us. This time I go, too!"

      "You bet."

      "Les-" The older man spoke almost diffidently. "What does it look like when you look back and see the Earth?"

      "Huh? It looks like- It looks-" LeCroix stopped. "Hell's bells, Boss, there isn't any way to tell you. It's wonderful, that's all. The sky is black and-well, wait until you see the pictures I took. Better .yet, wait and see it yourself."

      Harriman nodded. "But it's hard to wait."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"FIELDS OF DIAMONDS ON THE MOONU!"

"BILLIONAIRE BACKER DENIES DIAMOND STORY Says Jewels Taken Into Space for Science Reasons"

"MOON DIAMONDS: HOAX OR FACT?"

      "-but consider this, friends of the invisible audience: why would anyone take diamonds to the moon? Every ounce of that ship and its cargo was calculated; diamonds would not be taken along without reason. Many scientific authorities have pronounced Mr. Harriman's professed reason an absurdity. It is easy to guess that diamonds might be taken along for the purpose of 'salting' the Moon, so to speak, with earthly jewels, with the intention of convincing us that diamonds exist on the Moon-but Mr. Harriman, his pilot Captain LeCroix, and everyone connected with the enterprise have sworn from the beginning that the diamonds did not come from the Moon. But it is an absolute certainty that the diamonds were in the space ship when it landed. Cut it how you will; this reporter is going to try to buy some lunar diamond mining stock-"

      Strong was, as usual, already in the office when Harriman came in. Before the partners could speak, the screen called out, "Mr. Harriman, Rotterdam calling."

      "Tell them to go plant a tulip."

      "Mr. van der Velde is waiting, Mr. Harriman."

      "Okay."

      Harriman let the Hollander talk, then said, "Mr. van der Velde, the statements attributed to me are absolutely correct. I put those diamonds the reporters saw into the ship before it took off. They were mined right here on Earth. In fact I bought them when I came over to see you; I can prove it."

      "But Mr. Harriman-"

      "Suit yourself. There may be more diamonds on the Moon than you can run and jump over. I don't guarantee it. But I do guarantee that those diamonds the newspapers are talking about came from Earth."

      "Mr. Harriman, why would you send diamonds to the Moon? Perhaps you intended to fool us, no?"

      "Have it your own way. But I've said all along that those diamonds came from Earth. Now see here: you took an option-an option on an option, so to speak. If you want to make the second payment on that option and keep it in force, the deadline is nine o'clock Thursday, New York time, as specified in the contract. Make up your mind."

      He switched off and found his partner looking at him sourly. "What's eating you?"

      "I wondered about those diamonds, too, Delos. So I've been looking through the weight schedule of the Pioneer."

      "Didn't know you were interested in engineering."

      "I can read figures."

      "Well, you found it, didn't you? Schedule F-i 7-c, two ounces, allocated to me personally."

      "I found it. It sticks out like a sore thumb. But I didn't find something else."

      Harriman felt a 'cold chill in his stomach. "What?"

      "I didn't find a schedule for the cancelled covers." Strong stared at him.

      "It must be there. Let me see that weight schedule."

      "It's not there, Delos. You know, I thought it was funny when you insisted on going to meet Captain LeCroix by yourself. What happened, Delos? Did you sneak them aboard?" He continued to stare while Harriman fidgeted. "We've put over some sharp business deals-but this will be the first time that anyone can say that the firm of Harriman and Strong has cheated."

      "George-I would cheat, lie, steal, beg, bribe-do anything to accomplish what we have accomplished."

      Harriman got up and paced the room. "We had to have that money, or the ship would never have taken off. We're cleaned out. You know that, don't you?"

      Strong nodded. "But those covers should have gone to the Moon. That's what we contracted to do."

      "I just forgot it. Then it was too late to figure the weight in. But it doesn't matter. I figured that if the trip was a failure, if LeCroix cracked up, nobody would know or care that the covers hadn't gone. And I knew if he made it, it wouldn't matter; we'd have plenty of money. And we will, George, we will!"

      "We've got to pay the money back."

      "Now? Give me time, George. Everybody concerned is 'happy the way it is. Wait until we recover our stake; then I'll buy every one of those covers back-out of my own pocket. That's a promise."

      Strong continued to sit. Harriman stopped in front of him. "I ask you, George, is it worth while to wreck an enterprise of this size for a purely theoretical point?"

      Strong sighed and said, "When the time comes, use the firm's money."

      "That's the spirit! But I'll use my own, I promise you."

      "No, the firm's money. If we're in it together, we're in it together."

      "O.K., if that's the way you want it."

      Harriman turned back to his desk. Neither of the two partners had anything to say for a long while. Presently Dixon and Entenza were announced.

      "Well, Jack," said Harriman. "Feel better now?"

      "No thanks to you. I had to fight for what I did put on the air-and some of it was pirated as it was. Delos, there should have been a television pick-up in the ship."

      "Don't fret about it. As I told you, we couldn't spare the weight this time. But there will be the next trip, and the next. Your concession is going to be worth a pile of money."

      Dixon cleared his throat. "That's what we came to see you about, Delos. What are your plans?"

      "Plans? We go right ahead. Les and Coster and I make the next trip. We set up a permanent base. Maybe Coster stays behind. The third trip we send a real colony-nuclear engineers, miners, hydroponics experts, communications engineers. We'll found Luna City, first city on another planet."

      Dixon looked thoughtful. "And when does this begin to pay off?"

      "What do you mean by 'pay off'? Do you want your capital back, or do you want to begin to see some return on your investment? I can cut it either way."

      Entenza was about to say that he wanted his investment back; Dixon cut in first, "Profits, naturally. The investment is already made."

      "Fine!"

      "But I don't see how you expect profits. Certainly, LeCroix made the trip and got back safely. There is honor for all of us. But where are the royalties?"

      "Give the crop time to ripen, Dan. Do I look worried? What are our assets?" Harriman ticked them off on his fingers. "Royalties on pictures, television, radio-."

      "Those things go to Jack."

      "Take a look at the agreement. He has the concession, but he pays the firm-that's all of us-for them."

      Dixon said, "Shut up, Jack!" before Entenza could speak, then added, "What else? That won't pull us out of the red."

      "Endorsements galore. Monty's boys are working on that. Royalties from the greatest best seller yet-I've got a ghost writer and a stenographer following LeCroix around this very minute. A franchise for the first and only space line-"

      "From whom?"

      "We'll get it. Kamens and Montgomery are in Paris now, working on it. I'm joining them this afternoon. And we'll tie down that franchise with a franchise from the other end, just as soon as we can get a permanent colony there, no matter how small. It will be the autonomous state of Luna, under the protection of the United Nations-and no ship will land or take off in its territory without its permission. Besides that we'll have the right to franchise a dozen other companies for various purposes-and tax them, too-just as soon as we set up the Municipal Corporation of the City of Luna under the laws of the State of Luna. We'll sell everything but vacuum- we'll even sell vacuum, for experimental purposes. And don't forgct-we'll still have a big chunk of real estate, sovereign title in us-as a state-and not yet sold. The Moon is big."

      "Your ideas are rather big, too, Delos," Dixon said dryly. "But what actually happens next?"

      "First we get title confirmed by the U.N. The Security Council is now in secret session; the Assembly meets tonight. Things will be popping; that's why I've got to be there. When the United Nations decides-as it will!- that its own non-profit corporation has the only real claim to the Moon, then I get busy. The poor little weak non-profit corporation is going to grant a number of things to some real honest-to-god corporations with hair on their chests-in return for help in setting up a physics research lab, an astronomical observatory, a lunography institute and some other perfectly proper nonprofit enterprises. That's our interim pitch until we get a permanent colony with its own laws. Then we-"

      Dixon gestured impatiently. "Never mind the legal shenanigans, Delos. I've known you long enough to know that you can figure out such angles. What do we actually have to do next?"

      "Huh? We've got to build another ship, a bigger one. Not actually bigger, but effectively bigger. Coster has started the design of a surface catapult- it will reach from Manitou Springs to the top of Pikes Peak. With it we can put a ship in free orbit around the Earth. Then we'll use such a ship to fuel more ships-it amounts to a space station, like the power station. It adds up to a way to get there on chemical power without having to throw away nine-tenths of your ship to do it."

      "Sounds expensive."

      "It will be. But don't worry; we've got a couple of dozen piddling little things to keep the money coming in while we get set up on a commercial basis, then we sell stock. We- sold stock before; now we'll sell a thousand dollars' worth where we sold ten before."

      "And you think that will carry you through until the enterprise as a whole is on a paying basis? Face it, Delos, the thing as a whole doesn't pay off until you have ships plying between here and the Moon on a paying basis, figured in freight and passenger charges. That means customers, with cash. What is there on the Moon to ship-and who pays for it?"

      "Dan, don't you believe there will be? If not, why are you here?"

      "I believe in it, Delos-or I believe in you. But what's your time schedule? What's your budget? What's your prospective commodity? And please don't mention diamonds; I think I understand that caper."

      Harriman chewed his cigar for a few moments. "There's one valuable commodity we'll start shipping at once."

      "What?"

      "Knowledge."

      Entenza snorted. Strong looked puzzled. Dixon nodded. "I'll buy that. Knowledge is always worth something-to the man who knows how to exploit it. And I'll agree that the Moon is a place to find new knowledge. I'll assume that you can make the next trip pay off. What's your budget and your time table for that?"

      Harriman did not answer. Strong searched his face closely. To him Harriman's poker face was as revealing as large print-he decided that his partner had been crowded into a corner. He waited, nervous but ready to back Harriman's play. Dixon went on, "From the way you describe it, Delos, I judge that you don't have money enough for your next step-and you don't know where you will get it. I believe in you, Delos-and I told you at the start that I did not believe in letting a new business die of anemia. I'm ready to buy in with a fifth share."

      Harriman stared. "Look," he said bluntly, "you own Jack's share now, don't you?"

      "I wouldn't say that."

      "You vote it. It sticks out all over."

      Entenza said, "That's not true. I'm independent. I-"

      "Jack, you're a damn liar," Harriman said dispassionately. "Dan, you've got fifty percent now. Under the present rules I decide deadlocks, which gives me control as long as George sticks by me. If we sell you another share, you vote three-fifths-and are boss. Is that the deal you are looking for?"

      "Delos, as I told you, I have confidence in you."

      "But you'd feel happier with the whip hand. Well, I won't do it. I'll let space travel-real space travel, with established runs-wait another twenty years before I'll turn loose. I'll let us all go broke and let us live on glory before I'll turn loose. You'll have to think up another scheme."

      Dixon said nothing. Harriman got up and began to pace. He stopped in front of Dixon. "Dan, if you really understood what this is all about, I'd let you have control. But you don't. You see this is just another way to money and to power. I'm perfectly willing to let you vultures get rich-but I keep control. I'm going to see this thing developed, not milked. The human race is heading out to the stars-and this adventure is going to present new problems compared with which atomic power was a kid's toy. Unless the whole matter is handled carefully, it will be fouled up. You'll foul it up, Dan, if I let you have the deciding vote in it-because you don't understand it."

      He caught his breath and went on, "Take safety for instance. Do you know why I let LeCroix take that ship out instead of taking it myself? Do you think I was afraid? No! I wanted it to come back-safely. I didn't want space travel getting another set-back. Do you know why we have to have a monopoly, for a few years at least? Because every so-and-so and his brother is going to want to build a Moon ship, now that they know it can be done. Remember the first days of ocean flying? After Lindbergh did it, every so-called pilot who could lay hands on a crate took off for some over-water point. Some of them even took their kids along. And most of them landed in the drink. Airplanes get a reputation for being dangerous. A few years after that the airlines got so hungry for quick money in a highly competitive field that you couldn't pick up a paper without seeing headlines about another airliner crash.

      "That's not going to happen to space travel! I'm not going to let it happen.

      Space ships are too big and too expensive; if they get a reputation for being unsafe as well, we might as well have stayed in bed. I run things."

      He stopped. Dixon waited and then said, "I said I believed in you, Delos. How much money do you need?"

      "Eh? On what terms?"

      "Your note."

      "My note? Did you say my note?"

      "I'd want security, of course."

      Harriman swore. "I knew there was a hitch in it. Dan, you know everything I've got is tied up in this venture."

      "You have insurance. You have quite a lot of insurance, I know."

      "Yes, but that's all made out to my wife."

      "I seem to have heard you say something about that sort of thing to Jack Entenza," Dixon said. "Come, now-if I know your tax-happy sort, you have at least one irrevocable trust, or paid-up annuities, or something, to keep Mrs. Harriman out of the poor house."

      Harriman thought fiercely about it. "When's the call date on this note?"

      "In the sweet bye and bye. I want a no-bankruptcy clause, of course."

      "Why? Such a clause has no legal validity."

      "It would be valid with you, wouldn't it?"

      "Mmm . . . yes. Yes, it would."

      "Then get out your policies and see how big a note you can write." Harriman looked at him, turned abruptly and went to his safe. He came back with quite a stack of long, stiff folders. They added them up together; it was an amazingly large sum-for those days. Dixon then consulted a memorandum taken from his pocket and said, "One seems to be missing- a rather large one. A North Atlantic Mutual policy, I think."

      Harriman glared at him. "Am I going to have to fire every confidential clerk in my force?"

      "No," Dixon said mildly, "I don't get my information from your staff. Harriman went back to the safe, got the policy and added it to the pile. Strong spoke up, "Do you want mine, Mr. Dixon?"

      "No," answered Dixon, "that won't be necessary." He started stuffing the policies in his pocket. "I'll keep these, Delos, and attend to keeping up the premiums. I'll bill you of course. You can send the note and the changeof-beneficiary forms to my office. Here's your draft." He took out another slip of paper; it was the draft-already made out in the amount of the policies.

      Harriman looked at it. "Sometimes," he said slowly, "I wonder who's kidding who?" He tossed the draft over to Strong. "O.K., George, take care of it. I'm off to Paris, boys. Wish me luck." He strode out as jauntily as a fox terrier.

      Strong looked from the closed door to Dixon, then at the note. "I ought to tear this thing up!"

      "Don't do it," advised Dixon. "You see, I really do believe in him." He added, "Ever read Carl Sandburg, George?"

      "I'm not much of a reader."

      "Try him some time. He tells a story about a man who started a rumor that they had struck oil in hell. Pretty soon everybody has left for hell, to get in on the boom. The man who started the rumor watches them all go, then scratches his head and says to himself that there just might be something in it, after all. So he left for hell, too."

      Strong waited, finally said, "I don't get the point."

      "The point is that I just want to be ready to protect myself if necessary, George-and so should you. Delos might begin believing his own rumors. Diamonds! Come, Jack."

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE ENSUING MONTHS were as busy as the period before the flight of the Pioneer (now honorably retired to the Smithsonian Institution). One engineering staff and great gangs of men were working on the catapult, two more staffs were busy with two new ships; the Mayflower, and the Colonial; a third ship was on the drafting tables. Ferguson was chief engineer for all of this; Coster, still buffered by Jock Berkeley, was engineering consultant, working where and as he chose. Colorado Springs was a boom town; the Denver-Trinidad roadcity settlements spread out at the Springs until they surrounded Peterson Field.

      Harriman was as busy as a cat with two tails. The constantly expanding exploitation and promotion took eight full days a week of his time, but, by working Kamens and Montgomery almost to ulcers and by doing without sleep himself, he created frequent opportunities to run out to Colorado and talk things over with Caster.

      Luna City, it was decided, would be founded on the very next trip. The Mayflower was planned for a pay-load not only of seven passengers, but with air, water and food to carry four of them over to the next trip; they would live in an aluminum Quonset-type hut, sealed, pressurized, and buried under the loose soil of Luna until-and assuming-they were succored.

      The choice of the four extra passengers gave rise to another contest, another publicity exploitation-and more sale of stock. Harriman insisted that they be two married couples, over the united objections of scientific organizations everywhere. He gave in only to the extent of agreeing that there was no objection to all four being scientists, providing they constituted two married couples. This gave rise to several hasty marriages-and some divorces, after the choices were announced.

      The Mayflower was the maximum size that calculations showed would be capable of getting into a free orbit around the Earth from the boost of the catapult, plus the blast of her own engines. Before she took off, four other ships, quite as large, would precede her. But they were not space ships; they were mere tankers-nameless. The most finicky of ballistic calculations, the most precise of launchings, would place them in the same orbit at the same spot. There the Mayflower would rendezvous and accept their remaining fuel.

      This was the trickiest part of the entire project. If the four tankers could be placed close enough together, LeCroix, using a tiny maneuvering reserve, could bring his new ship to them. If not-well, it gets very lonely out in Space.

      Serious thought was given to placing pilots in the tankers and accepting as a penalty the use of enough fuel from one tanker to permit a get-away boat, a life boat with wings, to decelerate, reach the atmosphere and brake to a landing. Caster found a cheaper way.

      A radar pilot, whose ancestor was the proximity fuse and whose immediate parents could be found in the homing devices of guided missiles, was given the task of bringing the tankers together. The first tanker would not be so equipped, but th~ second tanker through its robot would smell out the first and home on it with a pint-sized rocket engine, using the smallest of vectors to bring them together. The third would home on the first two and the fourth on the group.

      LeCroix shouid have no trouble-if the scheme worked.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

STRONG WANTED TO SHOW HARRIMAN the sales reports on the H & S automatic household switch; Harriman brushed them aside.

      Strong shoved them back under his nose. "You'd better start taking an interest in such things, Delos. Somebody around this office had better start seeing to it that some money comes in-some money that belongs to us, personally-or you'll be selling apples on a street corner."

      Harriman leaned back and clasped his hands back of his head. "George, how can you talk that way on a day like this? Is there no poetry in your soul? Didn't you hear what I said when I came in? The rendezvous worked. Tankers one and two are as close together as Siamese twins. We'll be leaving within the week."

      "That's as may be. Business has to go on."

      "You keep it going; I've got a date. When did Dixon say he would be over?"

      "He's due now."

      "Good!" Harriman bit the end off a cigar and went on, "You know, George, I'm not sorry I didn't get to make the first trip. Now I've still got it t~ do. I'm as expectant as a bridegroom-and as happy." He started to hum.

      Dixon came in without Entenza, a situation that had obtained since the day Dixon had dropped the pretence that he controlled only one share. He shook hands. "You heard the news, Dan?"

      "George told me."

      "This is it-or almost. A week from now, more or less, I'll be on the Moon. I can hardly believe it."

      Dixon sat down silently. Harriman went on, "Aren't you even going to congratulate me? Man, this is a great dayl"

      Dixon said, "D.D., why are you going?"

      "Huh? Don't ask foolish questions. This is what I ~have been working toward."

      "It's not a foolish question. I asked why you were going. The four colonists have an obvious reason, and each is a selected specialist observer as well. LeCroix is the pilot. Coster is the man who is designing the permanent colony. But why are you going? What's your function?"

      "My function? Why, I'm the guy who runs things. Shucks, I'm going to run for mayor when I get there. Have a cigar, friend-the name's Harriman. Don't forget to vote." He grinned.

      Dixon did not smile. "I did not know you planned on staying."

      Harriman looked sheepish. "Well, that's still up in the air. If we get the shelter built in a hurry, we may save enough in the way of supplies to let me sort of lay over until the next trip. You wouldn't begrudge me that, would you?"

      Dixon looked him in the eye. "Delos, I can't let you go at all."

      Harriman was too startled to talk at first. At last he managed to say, "Don't joke, Dan. I'm going. You can't stop me. Nothing on Earth can stop me."

      Dixon shook his head. "I can't permit it, Delos. I've got too much sunk in this. If you go and anything happens to you, I lose it all."

      "That's silly. You and George would just carry on, that's all."

      "Ask George."

      Strong had nothing to say. He did not seem anxious to meet Harriman's eyes. Dixon went on, "Don't try to kid your way out of it, Delos. This venture is you and you are this venture. If you get killed, the whole thing folds up. I don't say space travel folds up; I think you've already given that a boost that will carry it along even with lesser men in your shoes. But as for this venture-our company-it will fold up. George and I will have to liquidate at about half a cent on the dollar. It would take sale of patent rights to get that much. The tangible assets aren't worth anything."

      "Damn it, it's the intangibles we sell. You knew that all along."

      "You are the intangible asset, Delos. You are the goose that lays the golden eggs. I want you to stick around until you've laid them. You must not risk your neck in space flight until you have this thing on a profit-making basis, so that any competent manager, such as George or myself, thereafter can keep it solvent. I mean it, Delos. I've got too much in it to see you risk it in a joy ride."

      Harriman stood up and pressed his fingers down on the edge of his desk. He was breathing hard. "You can't stop me!" he said slowly and forcefully. "Not all the forces of heaven or hell can stop me."

      Dixon answered quietly, "I'm sorry, Delos. But I can stop you and I will. I can tie up that ship out there."

      "Try it! I own as many lawyers as you do-and better ones!"

      "I think you will find that you are not as popular in American courts as you once were-not since the United States found out it didn't own the Moon after all."

      "Try it, I tell you. I'll break you and I'll take your shares away from you, too."

      "Easy, Delos! I've no doubt you have some scheme whereby you could milk the basic company right away from George and me if you decided to. But it won't be necessary. Nor will it be necessary to tie up the ship. I want the flight to take place as much as you do. But you won't be on it, because you will decide not to go."

      "I will, eh? Do I look crazy from where you sit?"

      "No, on the contrary."

      "Then why won't I go?"

      "Because of your note that I hold. I want to collect it."

      "What? There's no due date."

      "No. But I want to be sure to collect it."

      "Why, you dumb fool, if I get killed you collect it sooner than ever."

      "Do I? You are mistaken, Delos. If you are killed-on a flight to the Moon-I collect nothing. I know; I've checked with every one of the companies underwriting you. Most of them have escape clauses covering experimental vehicles that date back to early aviation. In any case all of them will cancel and fight it out in court if you set foot inside that ship."

      "You put them up to this!"

      "Calm down, Delos. You'll be bursting a blood vessel. Certainly I queried them, but I was legitimately looking after my own interests. I don't want to collect on that note-not now, not by your death. I want you to pay it back out of your own earnings, by staj'ing here and nursing this company through till it's stable."

      Harriman chucked his cigar, almost unsmoked and badly chewed, at a waste basket. He missed. "I don't give a hoot if you lose on it. If you hadn't stirred them up, they'd have paid without a quiver."

      "But it did dig up a weak point in your plans, Delos. If space travel is to be a success, insurance will have to reach out and cover the insured anywhere."

      "Confound it, one of them does now-N. A. Mutual."

      "I've seen their ad and I've looked over what they claim to offer. It's just window dressing, with the usual escape clause. No, insurance will have to be revamped, all sorts of insurance."

      Harriman looked thoughtful. "I'll look into it. George, call Kamens. Maybe we'll have to float our own company."

      "Never mind Kamens," objected Dixon. "The point is you can't go on this trip. You have too many details of that sort to watch and plan for and nurse along."

      Harriman looked back at him. "You haven't gotten it through your head, Dan, that I'm going! Tie up the ship if you can. If you put sheriffs around it, I'll have goons there to toss them aside."

      Dixon looked pained. "I hate to mention this point, Delos, but I am afraid you will be stopped even if I drop dead."

      "How?"

      "Your wife."

      "What's she got to do with it?"

      "She's ready to sue for separate maintenance right now-she's found out about this insurance thing. When she hears about this present plan, she'll force you into court and force an accounting of your assets."

      "You put her up to it!"

      Dixon hesitated. He knew that Entenza had spilled the beans to Mrs. Harriman-maliciously. Yet there seemed no point in adding to a personal feud. "She's bright enough to have done some investigating on her own account. I won't deny I've talked to her-but she sent for me."

      "I'll fight both of you!" Harriman stomped to a window, stood looking out-it was a real window; he liked to look at the sky.

      Dixon came over and put a hand on his shoulder, saying softly, "Don't take it this way, Delos. Nobody's trying to keep you from your dream. But you can't go just yet; you can't let us down. We've stuck with you this far; you owe it to us to stick with us until it's done."

      Harriman did not answer; Dixon went on, "If you don't feel any loyalty toward me, how about George? He's stuck with you against me, when it hurt him, when he thought you were ruining him-and you surely were, unless you finish this job. How about George, Delos? Are you going to let him down, too?"

      Harriman swung around, ignoring Dixon and facing Strong. "What about it, George? Do you think I should stay behind?"

      Strong rubbed his hands and chewed his lip. Finally he looked up. "It's all right with me, Delos. You do what you think is best."

      Harriman stood looking at him for a long moment, his face working as if he were going to cry. Then he said huskily, "Okay, you rats. Okay. I'll stay behind."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

IT WAS ONE OF THOSE GLORIOUS EVENINGS so common in the Pikes Peak region, after a day in which the sky has been well scrubbed by thunderstorms. The track of the catapult crawled in a straight line up the face of the mountain, whole shoulders having been carved away to permit it. At the temporary space port, still raw from construction, Harriman, in company with visiting notables, was saying good-bye to the passengers and crew of the Mayflower.

      The crowds came right up to the rail of the catapult. There was no need to keep them back from the ship; the jets would not blast until she was high over the peak. Only the ship itself was guarded, the ship and the gleaming rails.

      Dixon and Strong, together for company and mutual support, hung back at the edge of the area roped off for passengers and officials. They watched Harriman jollying those about to leave: "Good-bye, Doctor. Keep an eye on him, Janet. Don't let him go looking for Moon Maidens." They saw him engage Coster in private conversation, then clap the younger man on the back.

      "Keeps his chin up, doesn't he?" whispered Dixon.

      "Maybe we should have let him go," answered Strong.

      "Eh? Nonsense! We've got to have him. Anyway, his place in history is secure."

      "He doesn't care about history," Strong answered seriously, "he just wants to go to the Moon."

      "Well, confound it-he can go to the Moon . . . as soon as he gets his job done. After all, it's his job. He made it."

      "I know."

      Harriman turned around, saw them, started toward them. They shut up. "Don't duck," he said jovially. "It's all right. I'll go on the next trip. By then I plan to have it running itself. You'll see." He turned back toward the Mayflower. "Quite a sight, isn't she?"

      The outer door was closed; ready lights winked along the track and from the control tower. A siren sounded.

      Harriman moved a step or two closer.

      "There she goes!"

      It was a shout from the whole crowd. The great ship started slowly, softly up the track, gathered speed, and shot toward the distant peak. She was already tiny by the time she curved up the face and burst into the sky.

      She hung there a split second, then a plume of light exploded from her tail. Her jets had fired.

      Then she was a shining light in the sky, a ball of flame, then-nothing. She was gone, upward and outward, to her rendezvous with her tankers.

      The crowd had pushed to the west end of the platform as the ship swarmed up the mountain. Harriman had stayed where he was, nor had Dixon and Strong followed the crowd. The three were alone, Harriman most alone for he did not seem aware that the others were near him. He was watching the sky.

      Strong was watching him. Presently Strong barely whispered to Dixon, "Do you read the Bible?"

      "Some."

      "He looks as Moses must have looked, when he gazed out over the promised land."

      Harriman dropped his eyes from the sky and saw them. "You guys still here?" he said. "Come on-there's work to be done."