From the local Council she learned only that the full extent of the losses would not be known for weeks. Fighting had been intense between Earth and the orbit of Mars and there was still some confusion. It appeared that Mars, the Moons of Jupiter and the stations beyond Saturn's orbit had suffered heavily. The brunt of the strike, she was told, had been absorbed inside the orbit of Mars, and Earth and its satellite escaped what might have been fatal blows. That was as much as the Council could tell her. No one should expect them, they explained, not without sympathy, to halt assessments and try to learn what had happened to one man in a cosmic operation. They denied her permission to return to the site of former Factory Eight Ninety-six. They pointed out that such excursions were morale-shattering and that she was needed immediately in the East. Production had to be increased in preparation for further strikes. They did permit her to view the site on a screen. And then she was sorry. Where the factory, the dormitory, the cedars, the vale, the wood had been was now a crater twice as large as the lake. As she studied the scene, an uncontrollable surging rose in her breast. At last tears came. She hardly remembered going out to the atmosphere craft that was to take her to the eastern factory. The craft was jampacked with girls and older women. Their talk was puzzling. "Do they lose their spirit out in the void?" "Maybe it's that stuff shot into them at the Centers." "But that stuff makes them stronger. Besides, it isn't their strength. Maybe it's us. Maybe we have some hidden psychological reason not to bring more children into existence." "When I was growing up," said an older woman, "boys and girls were expected to fall in love. Now they discourage it. You can't expect the laws of nature--" "But that," another pointed out, "is to prevent heartbreak. When a girl is madly in love and the boy goes out and doesn't come back or comes back gray and wrinkled and broken--" "It isn't our problem," somebody said peevishly. "If bearing children isn't our problem, whose is it?" "I meant fertility." Sue hoped that it was just girl talk, and tried to dismiss it, but half-formed thoughts stirred restlessly and plucked at the strings of some dormant longing inherent in her sex. With the others she wondered. The new factory differed from the old, and it was several days before she became adept at operating the improved machines. The Center was closer and work was going on to merge the two dining halls. Word spread that romance might no longer be discouraged. This made her wonder more. * * * * * On the first day of spring a thin blonde girl at the next machine fell unconscious. As Sue rushed to help her, she saw the two ribbons clutched in the thin hand. A chunky brunette whispered, "Her husband's posthumous award. She got them last night, probably didn't sleep."