"Rush the fleet to Rona and evacuate all people. Over!" "All Leaders of Spacefleet Squadrons, listen: Squadron I, proceed to Center City; Squadron II, proceed to Forel; Squadron III--" Lan Yotar snapped off the etheradio and rose. "That's all we can do here. Come!" Followed by the Chief Scientist, he hastened out of the Council Chamber and down the broad corridor. Descending the steps to the landing field, he was just in time to see his private spacecar swoop down in its allotted place. His pilot had heard the Emergency Call and knew he would be needed. Another spacecar landed close by and Var Dalum, the Chief Scribe, hastily joined them. "You're going to Rona?" he asked breathlessly. "Yes. Come with us," said the Council Chief. The airlock had hardly settled in its socket before the pilot took off and the little craft zoomed up at a steep slant. The blue sky gradually darkened and soon they were in the dead black of interplanetary space, heading straight for the afflicted planet. "Rona, of all planets!" whispered the Chief Scribe. "What shall we do for food?" The Chief Scientist shook his head. "Let's not despair till we know the worst," he replied. After that, silence reigned. The pilot concentrated on getting every ounce of power out of his jets. Lan Yotar sat staring straight ahead, his lips compressed, his arms folded. The two other officials gazed through the transparent sidepanels, now and again sliding the telescopic lenses into them to observe a Squadron of the Spacefleet hastening towards their common destination. "Surely we should see Rona by now," murmured Var Dalum. "We should," assented Tir Latoka grimly. "And since there's obviously such a pall of smoke over it that we can't, the situation doesn't look any too good." The etheradio had been silent, as it was a strict rule that only highly necessary messages be broadcast during an emergency. It now gave voice, unconsciously confirming the Chief Scientist's words. "Ros Vinla here! All incoming Squadrons exercise extreme care in landing; visibility practically nil, owing to smoke. Alter your course to nearest clear space and come in under smoke. Squadron IV, join Squadron VII; your objective has been destroyed. That is all." "There's Sita," remarked the pilot, naming one of Rona's three moons. "Once we pass her--" In a few moments the spacecar had passed the satellite, and an involuntary groan burst from them all. The planet was a horror. Mile upon square mile, formerly consisting of green fields and bulging granaries, was now a seething mass of molten lava; lakes were rapidly disappearing in clouds of superheated steam. Over all hovered dense masses of black smoke and volcanic ash, blowing aside now and then to reveal the terrible scene beneath.