He retraced the days of his life: the preparations for the flight, the arguments with Jason over exploring the cities, his trek from Chicago to the settlement, the aimless years after the radiation death of his two boys and Marjorie, his wife. Marjorie and the boys, lying sick month after month, dying one after the other in a cancerous agony while he stood by helplessly in the ruins of what had been their home. _No!_ His mind warned him. _Don't think of that. Not that. Think of Jason, Jason who prevents you from doing the one thing you want, who is taking your life from you; Jason, the peerless leader; Jason, who's afraid of the cities. Why? Why is he afraid of the cities? That's the hub of everything down there. Why does Jason fear the cities?_ * * * * * It wasn't until he finished connecting the satellite's last unit--the sighting mechanism--that Tom realized the answer. One answer. And everything fell into place. Everything ... except what Tom Morris was going to do about it. Tom squinted through the twin telescopes of the sighting mechanism again, then pushed away and floated free, staring at the Earth bathed in pale moonlight. _What do I do now?_ For an instant he was close to panic, but he forced it down. _Think_, he said to himself. _You're supposed to be a Homo Sapiens ... use that brain. Think!_ The long night ended. The sun swung around from behind the bulk of Earth. Tom looked at it as he felt its warmth penetrating the insulated suit, and he knew it was the last time he would see the sun. He felt no more anger--even his hatred of Jason was drained out of him now. In its place was a sense of--finality. He spoke into his helmet mike. "Jason." "He is in conference with the astronomers." Dr. Arnoldsson's voice. "Get him for me, please." A few minutes of silence, broken only by the star-whisperings in his earphones. Jason's voice was carefully modulated. "Tom, you made it." "I made it. And the satellite's finished." "It's finished? Good. Now, what we have to do...." "Wait," Tom interrupted. "It's finished but it's useless." "What?" Tom twisted around to look at the completed satellite, its oddly-angled framework and bulbous machinery glinting fiercely in the newly-risen sun. "After I finished it I looked through the sighting mechanism to make certain the satellite's transmitters were correctly aimed at the settlement. Nobody told me to, but nobody said not to, either, so I looked. It's a simple mechanism.... The transmitters are pointed smack in the middle of Hudson's Bay." "You're sure?" "Certainly." "You can rotate the antennas...." "I know. I tried it. I can turn them as far south as the Great Lakes." A long pause. "I was afraid of this," Jason's voice said evenly. _I'll bet you were_, Tom answered to himself. "You must have moved the satellite out of position while assembling its components." * * * * *