"Doubtless. But you will check them. When you are certain that there is no possibility of error, you will be given your final work. I will not tell you that until you have finished here, since what we plan may affect the clarity of your thinking. That must not happen." Diavilev could not stop the question. "What are you going to do?" "You will know when there is a need. Your figures must be accurate." Krylov was gone. Diavilev sat for a long time without thinking, then he reached up slowly and turned off the television, and the Earth and the stars were gone. Now he must begin to think; now, really, he must try to understand. Twenty-four hours ago he had been in his bed in his home, sleeping, and now he was in outer space. It was too much for him. He could not understand why they had brought him here and before the stupendous fact of what was _outside_ he was helpless even to think. He had only a fear, a cold growing fear deep inside, because this station was the most potent military weapon the world had ever known, and because there was no hope now for the rest of the world. Always before he had thought, as a matter of course, that the army men would never last, would be swallowed eventually in the Russian soil just as had all the other conquerors before them. But now he saw that there was no chance, and the power of these men, their overwhelming power, was a fact he could not deny. Yet the habit of obedience was great, and this thing too Diavilev could forget. For in the end what mattered was only this: Diavilev was outside. No more time to think. He reached back up, turned on the screen. He surrendered himself with awe to watch the shining movements. And the moonlet was forgotten. There were many, many things which the moonlet would end, and Pyotr Diavilev was one of them, but of this of course he could not know, and so he continued to watch while the moonlet swung out over Russia, Denmark, and the northern tip of England. Just as it had been passing, silently, for a hundred million years. Just as it would pass, still silently, for a few more days.... * * * * * The moonlet came round twice more, and each time Pyotr Diavilev carefully checked his figures. They were true. The thing was roughly circular, something less than five miles in diameter, had an orbital speed approaching that of the station. Because of its weight Diavilev was certain that it was virtually solid nickel iron. A cold whirling mass of iron, five miles thick, come out of eternity and the endless reaches of space. It occurred to Diavilev, with fascination, that no one as yet had boarded the thing. He was about to ask when Krylov came up, but now the end came, and he had no time. Krylov wanted to know if he was now certain. Diavilev said yes. "Good. Now we may begin."