There was a chance, Michelson knew, but a very slim one, that something might go wrong. The rocket might crash on the Earth somewhere. But no one else probably even dared to think about it. None of them were as old nor as tired as Michelson. A lot of people would die. Just in case the Martians might have something in the way of gases as deadly as the G-agent, the population had been supplied with hypos of antidote, gas masks, and suiting. But still, so many people would die. However such a thing was very highly improbable. They drank again. Engstrand put his hand on Michelson's bowed shoulders. "Again you've done a magnificent job, old friend." His voice was low. "Three weeks ahead of schedule. That time advantage may have saved us all. God knows what the Martians are getting ready to send now!" "One thing we can be thankful for," Schauffer said. "No spies. No worry about security, no saboteurs. Of course the Martians are lucky too--or were--in that respect." He looked thoughtfully into his glass. "The Martians did us a favor really. They created world unity. A psychologist couldn't have predicted it. But think of that--since the war with Mars, no human being has ever tried to sabotage anything directed at defeating the Martians!" "It's natural enough. This time it's humans against--well--God knows what! But nothing human." Engstrand poured himself another drink. "No human being has had anything to identify with in the enemy's camp. You're right, Major. In a way, the Martians did us a favor. And now we'll do them one--one last favor. They're too damn evil to live, and they'll sure be glad, somewhere in their guts, to be finished off!" Schauffer turned to Michelson, and grinned. "Where's Mary?" "She wasn't feeling well," Michelson said. "I left her out at Lake House." He stood up. Quietly, he said. "Good-bye, gentleman. I'm going home, to Lake House. I'm tired." "Aren't you going to watch the rocket blast?" Michelson shook his head. "I think not." They all shook hands with Michelson. "Write us, will you, Mike," Engstrand said. "Let us hear from you often." "Of course," Michelson said. At the door he turned, an old man, stooped by years of devotion to more and more deadly chemicals. "If you need me, I'll still be at Lake House." * * * * * He went out of the observation room and stood for a moment looking at the elevator that waited with an open mouth. He had always been with G-2. Back when they had started over again in the ruins of World War III he had been in charge of various space-going projects aimed at a quick defeat of the Eurasians, and this always included the latest complex developments in bacteriological warfare, and the use of liquid and atmospheric gases. He had sent the first New Era test rocket into space, the first one to the moon, the first ones to Mars.