* * * * * "He'll be all right," I told Joan afterwards. "He pulled himself through. I wouldn't have dared to throw it at any other man that fast--but he's got guts." "Just the same," Joan said, "they'd better start rotating the station captains faster. The next man may not be so tough--and what if _he's_ a sleepwalker?" I didn't say anything. I'd had my share of worries for that week. "You did a whale of a job yourself, Peter," Joan said. "I just wish we could bank it in the machine. We might need the data later." "Well, why can't we?" "The Joint Chiefs of Staff say no. They don't say why. But they don't want any part of it recorded in ULTIMAC--or anywhere else." I stared at her. At first it didn't seem to make sense. And then it did--and that was worse. "Wait a minute," I said. "Joan--does that mean what I think it means? Is 'Spatial Supremacy' just as bankrupt as 'Massive Retaliation' was? Is it possible that the satellite--and the bombs.... Is it possible that I was telling Gascoigne the truth about the bombs being duds?" Joan shrugged. "He that darkeneth counsel without wisdom," she said, "isn't earning his salary."