"I know," West replied. A sadness as deep as the ocean of space was in his voice. "Pull these people back to you." "Of course." "Me last." The last lingering roars of sound were still pounding down the bore of the launching cradle. "Why do you want to be last?" "Duty," Zen said. "Get that miracle device of yours into operation, pronto." "Sure. I'm starting now." "Hey, guys, you're going home!" Zen yelled at the people with him. "What good is it to go home?" Spike Larson asked. "There won't be any home within an hour," Grant added. "Or however long that rocket will take to land. Why go back to what isn't there?" "That's where we will start the task of rebuilding," Zen said. "Rebuild what with what?" Larson demanded. "There will be something left," Zen said firmly. "You are already underground. You will stay that way. Keep the good fight going, for years. Raise some kids to keep it going after you are gone." He felt very firm and sure about what he was saying. "You're full of hot air," Red-Dog Jimmie Thurman said. "Besides, you are planning something else," Nedra spoke. "You want to get rid of us so you can--" "West!" Zen shouted. "Yes, Kurt." "Take 'em away!" Zen yelled. "They're trying to rebel on me. Take Nedra first before she reads my mind." "I'm working as fast as I can," West answered. "This instrument has to be tuned to the individual body frequency. Ah--" "I knew there was something--" Nedra began. And vanished. Zen grinned. He had the impression that she was calling him names that no lady should speak as she went away. Time would cure that, if any time was left. In the chamber an Asian was stirring. "Zen, old man, what are you up to?" Grant asked. "Take this one next," Kurt ordered. Grant looked reluctant but resigned as he disappeared. Zen was alone in the big chamber. Smoke swirled from the ceiling. One Asian was already on his feet and a guard was sitting up. "I've got them all here," West's voice came across vast distances. "Good." "Are you ready?" "Yeah," Zen answered. "But I'm going that way." He pointed toward the ceiling. "Kurt!" West's voice was sharp with sudden pain as he caught the colonel's meaning. "That way or no way," Zen answered. "But that's not a passenger rocket." "The hull will hold enough air to keep me alive for as long as I need to be there." "But the rocket is in constantly accelerating flight. It's a moving target." "Red-Dog Jimmie Thurman's plane was falling and Colonel Grant's satellite was moving and Spike Larson's sub was on the bottom of the Indian Ocean. Don't give me any back talk, Sam. Somebody got into that plane and that satellite and that submarine. I can get into that rocket. You're the man who can put me there." "But I'm not on that target!" West's voice had a wail in it. "Then get on it!" Kurt Zen sounded like an exceedingly gruff drill sergeant addressing a new recruit, or like a colonel who had his mind made up.