"Unfortunately, statistics is a scientific technique, and our predictions were not blather. We predicted the crash almost to the day. We said the 30th of July, 1995. We had no way of predicting the Iranian oil decision, which happened last April. That precipitated the crisis by a month, so it came on the first of July instead of the thirtieth. But socio-mathematics were far beyond the blather stage then. We hope we can still salvage something from the country now." The old soldier blinked at him. "What do you want, Loevy?" "I've come to ask you to surrender the Ship and march your men out of here." Colonel Gorham snorted. "My orders were to guard and protect this rocket, down to the last man if necessary. On the sixth of July, a week after the crash, I had orders direct from the President to hold this Ship at any cost. He warned me then that there'd be mobs, maybe even an attempt to storm the enclosure." He scowled angrily. "They'll never get this ship as long as I'm alive." "And have you heard from the President since the sixth?" Loevy's voice was smooth. "I have not." "Perhaps that's because the President was hanged on the White House lawn the day after he called you. Quite a mob was there. The food pinch was just beginning to be felt. And that was forty-seven days ago--" He glanced up at the Colonel's white face. "Oh, I'm not lying to you. It happened. Have you had _any_ communications recently?" "How could I? They cut the telephone cables, and we can't get anything but hysterical nonsense from our radio sets--" * * * * * "Has it occurred to you that many things may have happened in the course of this last month?" Loevy's voice was sharp in the still room. "I'll hold this Ship until things get straightened out," the Colonel snapped. "Colonel--_things aren't going to straighten out_. This isn't just a little depression we're in now, it isn't a small business recession that will just up and stabilize soon. This is an economic crash that has thrown the world back a thousand years. We may _never_ recover from the crash that came on the first of July. The government is gone, Colonel. _There isn't any government._ The army has dissolved into the hills, hunting for food. The only money with any value is being paid out by the hospitals for blood to restock their banks. And without money there isn't any food. The people in the cities are starving--standing in the streets starving because food isn't coming in. Communications are out, there isn't any commercial traffic--" "I have a stockpile of emergency rations a mile high, and I have four hundred men who aren't running around in the hills," the Colonel snarled. "I have a job to do, and I'm doing it--"