"No, I wouldn't," Marta said. "I'm not sure I want to see it start at all." She touched his arm. "Paul, this is a side of you I've tried hard not to see. You're--you're almost obsessed with the belief that the drill is the only answer. And you're battling ruthlessly against counter-ideas and time. After all, even the most radical estimates give us at least two more centuries. Granted there'll be a southern migration, but--" "Don't ask me how I know," Chandler said, "but we don't have two or even one century. _We don't have ten years!_ When the ice cap at the South Pole was at its peak, it exerted tremendous pressures on the continental land masses." "The old shifting crust theory?" "Yes. A theory tossed into discard when the big thaw came at the South Pole. Now, at an almost unbelievable rate, the ice is building in the north. This same seesawing effect has gone on throughout the Pleistocene. The stresses go one way against the crustal blocks of land, then the other way. It might be likened to bending a wire one way, then the other, until fatigue causes it to snap." "And you're convinced that the crust is about to let go?" "With catastrophic consequences." "You're asking me to accept a great deal on faith." "When you stood by me back in New San Francisco," Chandler asked, "did you honestly think we could tap the core?" "I don't know," Marta answered. "Would you have supported me if I had backed the Canadian plan for tilting the world on its axis?" * * * * * Marta seemed lost in deep reflection for a few moments. "I don't really know," she said as they reached the VIP quarters. At Marta's door, Chandler asked, "Will you stand by me for another twenty-four hours? By that time, the drill will be cushioning to a stop exactly two thousand miles down." "Unless we lose control," Marta said. "Then, in less than an hour, it could be smashing into the center of the core." "Will you wait?" For an answer she kissed him on the cheek, then said softly, "Now we better both get some rest. We start operations in less than six hours." She closed her door. Chandler entered his room and stretched out on his cot without taking his clothes off. He thought about the plans he had ignored. Some of them might have done the job. He thought of Kotenko, who distrusted him, and Marta, who trusted him. Finally he drifted into sleep. He dreamed of great cracks snaking their way down city streets, of violent earthquakes, foaming tidal waves, of people trapped in crumbling buildings and, finally, the Earth blooming into another sun. And as the fireball expanded into oblivion, the shimmering face of the short man appeared. His mouth moved, but Paul sensed rather than heard his words. "Chandler. Kotenko and the drill." The face faded to nothing. Chandler sat bolt upright on the cot. He was dripping with perspiration. The drill! Something was wrong at the drill. He ran down the hall to Marta's room and rapped on the door.