Quickly he retraced his steps to where they had left the ship, and deposited her inert form in the control room. Then he prepared a note which he placed in her hand, it read: "_It was the kindest thing to do, darling. Wait until I return. There's hope._" He finally adjusted the wrist-transmitter to the exact wave-length required to open the entrance to the _Dekka's_ Hall of Sessions, raced swiftly toward the cliff like a disembodied shadow. In the distance a golden _Felirene_ wailed its banshee love-call, urgent, savage--as savage as the burning agony that stifled Julian's breath, and as primordial. II _"For this is wisdom-- Not to love and live But to question what Fate Or the Gods may give...."_ Terra--20th Century. "I for one, have no intention of being sterilized by--shall we say--remote control!" The sardonic voice paused for emphasis. That would be _Astran_, Julian thought as he entered the great Hall, vast enough to encompass an army. The satirical tones were all too familiar; he had heard them many, many times during the years he had risen from a mere Astro-operative, through the successive stages of "Facet," Section-Facet Arch-Guardian; Techno-Star and finally had become Control-Facet, representing the flat, top-most facet of the stupendous jewel that hung above the Dais of the _Dekka_. "Dekkans," the voice continued, "despite my great age, I can think of less inglorious ends than to die impotent!" The flaming glory of the immense diamond cut in the shape of a ten-point double star, veiled the speaker. "Perhaps we're not facing a conscious enemy at all--that is, none that we have been able to discover," Astran amended with a dry chuckle distilled of acid. "And believe me, the resources of the _Dekka_ are anything but negligible! However, it may be that through a weakening of our race as a whole because of our existence under a different environment than Earth, we have succumbed to a microorganism native to these Moons, which originally were too alien to fit in mankind's metabolic processes. But now, now that through centuries of adaptation we have subtly changed. _It_ ... whatever it is, filtrable virus, microorganism, or whatever, _has had a chance to take hold_. All of you know the effects of the disease--hypertrophy of pigmentation glands--silver hair and eyes, as well as its one single deadly result--_sterility_!" Astran paused on the ghastly thought and let it sink in. "Our scientists have been unable to isolate the germ, it must be a filtrable virus ... that is their problem. But, if as I suspect there is a ... what was it the barbaric, ancient Romans called it?... a _Deux ex machina_ behind it, then, by the perdurable glory of our Moon, gentlemen, I pledge a holocaust that'll dwarf Jupiter's Red Spot into insignificance!" The capacity for destruction in Astran's cold, dispassionate voice was awesome.