"No," he said. "It's not a Notification of Error and Correction. Simply a follow-up directive ordering all recalled craft to navigate the final ten thousand miles of their Earth-approaches in intervals of not less than twenty minutes each. Seems the Invaders have their entire headquarters and supply set-up in a mother-ship circling Earth--and they aren't taking any chances." "Under these conditions, then--" "As far as we are concerned, Major, the conditions are the same!" For a moment Zukow stood immobile, his dark eyes snapping down to lock with Steele's. But the colonel's did not flinch. And then the Major pivoted, and left Steele suddenly alone in the small office. * * * * * He had hardly completed the all-units bulletin when the call-buzzer from Operations sounded. Within the next hour his six hundred men, his twenty small J-88 Lancers would be loaded to the fins with all the arms they could carry, and then.... Fleetingly, the thought nagged at him. Was Zukow a coward--or right? Twenty tiny J-88s balanced against the lives of four billion people.... Yet there would be surprise, and the over-confidence of a powerful victor after an easy conquest. And more, there would be the will of a small band of men. He flipped up the buzzer-switch, and the Operations lieutenant appeared on his small desk viewer. "Yes, lieutenant? Did your group have some difficulty in understanding my bulletin?" "No, sir. We're getting things Space-shape at our end right now. But, sir--you said that twenty craft were to be prepared." "Yes that's correct. All of them." "But there will be only nineteen, sir. Major Zukow blasted off nearly a half-hour before your announcement, in a completely unarmed J-88 and--he said--on your authorization." For a moment Steele said nothing. His mind seethed, yet he understood. "Very well, lieutenant. You will stand by for a second bulletin." The young officer's face faded from the screen, and Steele tried to think. Obvious, of course, but he wondered how much Zukow could be blamed. A frightened man. A coward, perhaps, doing what he thought was right. But it was _not_ right! And they must now act swiftly. For if the enemy were warned in sufficient time.... Infinity to zero, Zukow had said, were his odds. Perhaps. But there would be nineteen J-88s, armed to the fins.... * * * * * They had kept Zukow waiting three hours after he landed. He had immediately been placed under guard upon setting the unarmed Lancer down at National Spaceport, and they had not believed him until his shouts of protest had been overheard by one of their officers. It had almost been for nothing-- But now they were taking him to the Pentagon; into Taylor's own suite of offices.