Tired--and with hours to wait yet--Bennington laid down on a couch to relax. His slumber was fitful, dozing interrupted by vivid dreams, by slight noises, by quick flashes of intense thought by his mind, which was not convinced of the necessity for relaxation. Finally he drifted off deep, completely relaxed for the first time in three days. They counted--afterwards--that President Bennington had only a total of nine hours sleep in seventy-two. Then a bell rang. A siren wailed. A blast of salute-cannon shook the city, and the radio across Terra blasted into life. People across the worlds of Sol awoke; they had been sleeping lightly, awaiting The Moment and now it was here! Radio sets left running burst into life, waking people everywhere among the planets of Sol at the same instant. The Galactic Z-wave had come to life! Light years across the galaxy towards Neosol, Paul Grayson talked into a microphone. And on the planets that were Sol's Children, a thousand million loudspeakers thundered forth his voice! "President Bennington! President Bennington!" Bennington awoke from his fitful nap with a start. The door to his room opened. Phillip Vanderveer stood there looking in, he approached. Marian Bennington smiled quietly. "This is it!" Bennington looked at her queerly. His wife. Somehow strangely unimpressed by the solemnity of it all; peculiarly self-serene among all of the importance of the moment. His wife, greeting him with a slightly amused expression. Greatness, of moment or of person seemed a bit remote. Bennington gulped at her and smiled. "Take it easy Hal," she said. She kissed him gently as he leaned towards the microphone. "President Bennington speaking." "This is Paul Grayson riding the Latham Alpha IV beam towards the station. Thank God you're ready!" "What--?" "We're fifteen light minutes out from Contact. Huston is fighting to keep the Station alive; Hoagland is trying to kill it!" "Fighting?" "Space battle!" "Dammit man--Oh God, it's four or six months flight time there, isn't it?" "Yes," said Paul. "Just stick around. We'll win!" "_Grayson, you've got to win!_" The ice cap was dotted with craters. Tiny spots of black among the sea of glittering white were men struggling in the icy cold to reach the fight for the final link between Mother Earth and her distant Daughter. In the sky above, Isolationist and Coalitionist fought with nerve and iron to separate versus maintain the original solidarity of the galaxy. Paul, riding the front of the incoming radio beacon beam, had no idea of how the fight was going. But of Huston's hundred ships and one hundred and seventeen of Hoagland's only nine were left with Huston and seven left with Hoagland. The collected survivors in the relay station numbered thirty souls--determined souls of the same determination of the men who stood at Concord Bridge.