Krylov looked into the television screen, again rubbing his face with thick hairy hands. They were just passing over the northwestern coast of America; Diavilev waited. "If you were to take a pail of water," Krylov said calmly, "and whirl it around over your head, what would happen to the water?" Diavilev looked at him queerly. "It would remain in the pail," Krylov said, smiling. "If you were swinging it fast enough." "Exactly." Krylov turned back to stare at the screen. Below them was the pale gleaming blue of the Pacific. "But if you were to slow it down, comrade," Krylov said gently. "What would happen then?" "It would fall." And then, all of a sudden, Diavilev understood. Time stopped. Diavilev began to feel sick. Krylov laughed at his amazement. "Now take the case of this moon. If we were to slow it down, would it not fall?" "But how...?" "Would it not?" "Yes." "Ha!" Krylov laughed delightedly. "It was my own idea, you know. Although I am not a scientific man, this I could do myself. Are you amazed? I see that you are." He clapped a rough hand on Diavilev's knee. Diavilev strove to keep the horror from his face. "Now one thing more. The moon, or moonlet, as you say, passes along a definite line over certain areas of the Earth. If we were able to slow it down when and where we wanted, the moon could be made to fall at a predetermined point along that line. That is obvious. "You have already computed that path, along with all the necessary data. We, my friend, have picked the target. Your further work, therefore, is this: you will determine the point and the time at which the moonlet must be slowed in order to fall upon the target. It is a simple question of trajectory. And that is your mission, your trust." Diavilev could not speak. This man was clearly mad. Krylov was laughing again, his teeth bared into Diavilev's eyes. "Can you conceive it, comrade? Can you imagine it? The hand of God! They will call it the hand of God!" He leaned back and roared almost upsetting himself in the weightless air. The other crewmen heard him laugh and turned to look. They were all grinning. Diavilev felt his clothes becoming sodden. Krylov was serious. More than that, they were all serious. The Leader himself must know of all this and must have approved, or Diavilev would not be here. _But they cannot have fallen this far_, Diavilev told himself, _not in so little a time_. But they would do it. Observing Krylov, Diavilev understood at last that they would, and a great wave of despair cut through him. "How will you slow it down?" Krylov waved a fat hand smoothly. "By a series of hydrogen bomb explosions, placed at intervals along the leading face. We have already begun. The bombs are here comrade. The thrust of each bomb is known, each will slow the moonlet to a certain extent. The last one, which you will time, will slow it too much and it will begin to fall. And then," Krylov grinned, "the hand of God."