Walter Stanton felt the Platform, his dream, pulsing around him. For a moment he felt an affection even for the maddening wail of the ventilators. Behind him, he knew, were some of the best brains in science; men whose concepts cut across the lines of nationalism; who by their presence on the Platform showed that they disregarded the very instinct of self-preservation in the search for Truth. And he felt the presence too of the thousands below who had helped make the Platform a reality. He took a deep breath. Then he picked up the microphone and spoke to his friend. "Mel, this is Walt. I've just received a dispatch. Do not--repeat--do _not_ land at Sandia. Suggest you try to use White Sands." Mel's startled voice came back. "Why?" Walter Stanton felt his hands grow clammy. "They just destroyed Sandia Base." Goldstein gaped at him. "What.... What are you telling him?" He moved for the mike, but Walter Stanton shook his head. The speaker crackled. "Destroyed? Sandia destroyed?" "Entirely." "The--The dependents' quarters too?" Walter Stanton forced out the words. "Everything, Mel." There was a long silence, and then Mel Cramer spoke, and his voice was tired. "Vector me, Goldie." Goldstein said: "To White Sands, Colonel?" Behind the tiredness and the sadness Walter Stanton caught a hint of strength in the voice that came back. "To the missile...." Goldstein hesitated, looked at Walter Stanton. "Do it, son," said Stanton.... * * * * * He could never afterwards remember how long he had been sitting at his desk when Goldstein tapped on the hatch and entered, carrying a message. The lean youth looked down at him. "First, sir, I want to say that I understand...." Walter Stanton looked at him gratefully. "You know it wasn't to save us.... Just the Platform...." "I know it, and it took more guts than I've ever seen. But you'll need guts for this too, sir...." He handed Stanton the message. FROM: EARTH CONTROL CENTER TO: SPACE ONE SANDIA BASE DESTROYED ENEMY BOMBING ATTACK STAVES The dull throbbing ache started in his chest, and he knew that it might live with him for the rest of his life. He let the message fall. "If you get a list of dependent casualties, call a conference immediately." "Yes sir. Anything else, sir?" He forced himself to forget Lynne and Karen and concentrate on the new problems. He moved to the deck-port and kicked open the cover. On their shortened orbit they were moving in relation to the earth's surface now; the west coast of Africa lay below. "Did Cargo One get launched?" "No, sir. Destroyed while fueling." One of the problems, then, would be starvation; Cargo Two was months from completion. But at least, if they could survive, they'd have a chance to prove themselves; to prove the value of the Platform in war as well as peace; to save the tiny satellite for its intended use. He turned to Goldstein.