A second moon, he told Krylov, speaking with some excitement, had long been predicted by astrophysicists everywhere. Since the Earth had been attracting meteors for something like two billion years, it was inevitable that _some_ at least should be captured as moons. Krylov broke in, nodding with impatience. "Exactly. And now as to your work. You will see this moon shortly, when it crosses our path again. At that time you will correct the orbit we have plotted. You will also give us the exact mass and speed of that moon. The instruments you will need are already here. Let me emphasize this: You will be accurate. Is that clear?" Diavilev nodded. "Do you have any questions?" Diavilev had none. He wanted to ask why, of course, but he knew from long experience of army men that Krylov was not ready to tell him. He set himself, as always, to be patient. And now as well he wanted to think, he wanted to be alone. The magnificent fact of where he was had begun at last to envelope him. Now he wanted to _see_. "Very well," said Krylov, "the moon will be here in three hours." The interview ended. The army men moved away awkwardly, through the air. A young man named Stolyakhin, clearly showing his contempt for intellectuals and scientists, was left to show him around. And for the Universe, for Creation, for the most magnificent sight that any man would ever see, Diavilev had three hours. * * * * * At three twenty-three in the black afternoon the moonlet came within radar range. The alarm claxon screamed. Pyotr Diavilev sat poised and ready, holding himself tightly, while the thing came by with a great curving rush. There was very little time, but Diavilev worked with care and precision, and when he was done he looked into the television screen and saw the moonlet go by. In that moment he felt the presence of God. The thing was so huge, so incredibly immense, that Diavilev was terrified. Jagged, pitted, revolving slowly like a great rolling stone, the ball rushed by in the awful silence, blotting out the stars. To Diavilev there was never anything so cold, or dark, or ominous, never anything at all like it in all the history of man, or the world. _Like a stone_, Diavilev thought _from the sling of God_. It bore off into the west, reflecting dimly the cold yellow rays of the sun. It was gone in seconds. Diavilev tried to relax. He put a cigarette into his mouth and lighted it, but as usual the heated gasses did not rise and the cigarette put itself out. Diavilev did not notice. Before he could think, before he could even begin to realize the thought that was forming in his mind, Krylov was beside him, speaking with restrained exultation. "Were you successful?" Diavilev looked up shakily. "Yes." "You will check your figures, of course." "They are accurate."