"I don't know when I'll get back," the general said. The statement seemed to dangle as though it were an unfinished question. "The new detectors have put Miracastle on the fringe of things." "I've followed the work," the general said. "I try to keep up. It involves a new concept of mass variation, doesn't it?" "It just about makes it uneconomical to colonize a two-stage planet any more. Or to keep one going." The general's eyelids flickered. His body moved beneath the wrinkled folds of the surface suit. Cigar smoke curled in the still air. Mr. Tucker said, "You must have been aware that it would not have been a great loss to have evacuated Miracastle." The general shuffled in silence. "Yes, sir, I knew the background. It's part of my job to know things like that. You'll find, sir, that I have a strong sense of responsibility. If it's part of my job, I'll know about it." General Max Shorter abruptly stood and for a moment was motionless, a man deformed and diminished in stature by the ill-fitting surface suit. Expressionless, he looked down, without psychological advantage, at the seated civilian holding the partially smoked cigar. Later the same day, Mr. Tucker and two of the three other members of the Committee donned surface suits and, together with Captain Meford, the cartographer assigned to Miracastle, they boarded the surface scout. They arranged themselves in the uncomfortable bucket seats and strapped in. "Little early for an easy ride," Mr. Tucker commented. "I've been out before," Captain Meford said laconically. It was his usual manner. "How long do you think it will take us to get there?" "Between fifteen and twenty minutes, if I don't hit too much cross wind." Mr. Ryan, one of the other two civilians, commented, "A long time between cigars, eh, Jim?" The question was out of place and was ignored without hostility. Mr. Ryan twisted uncomfortably. At length he said, apologetically, "Dirty, filthy business. I wish it were over with." "So do I," Mr. Tucker said. Captain Meford activated the ramp and eased the scout out. It was immediately buffeted by the winds. "Sorry," he said. "It'll take a minute. Hold tight." The scout moved in three dimensions, erratically. "Wow! Let's set it at about twenty-six inches. Sorry. This will slow us down, but it will ease the bumps on down draft. There. That's better. We're okay now, I think. I guess we can settle back." Thirty-five minutes later, they came to what was left of the alien city. * * * * * Back in the Richardson dome, General Shorter had coffee, in his quarters, with the remaining man on the Committee, a Mr. Flison. They were going through the ritual of conversation. "This is the first time you've been Destroyed then, sir," the general said. "My first time was so long ago I've forgotten what it feels like."