His wife gripped his upper arms, hard. "Listen," she said. "It's not too late, yet. Lucille and Corey have told us a dozen times to come in with them if things started blowing up. There's room. I have plenty of food, so we won't infringe on theirs. Let's go over there, now. Just--Just in case." Pete wrenched away from her and shook his head violently. "_No!_ I've told you, over and over. I'm not going to prolong things. If the world blows itself up, I don't want to hang around for a few extra weeks to die in the wreckage of thirst or starvation. I'd as soon go when the world goes." Then his manner softened, and he took her gently by the shoulders. "But, honey--If _you_ want to go with them, it's okay. I'll understand. Let me help you pack the car, and--" Beth's hand came up in a blurred arc and cracked stingingly against the side of Pete's face. "_Stop it!_" she cried. "Stop talking that way! You know I won't go without you. What's left if you're gone!?" Pete had to grip her wrists to stop the frantic tiny fists that pummeled his chest in angry affection. "Okay, okay, honey. I won't say it again. We'll stay here, together." He started to take her in his arms, then suddenly grinned and started turning her around to face the other way. "In fact, we'll have a party!" he said, shoving her kitchenward. "Open that bottle of wine we've been saving for Thanksgiving dinner. We'll have it, tonight, along with maybe some of that anchovy paste we bought and never tried, and--" "There's some cold chicken in the refrigerator," said his wife, catching his infectious enthusiasm. "And I think some onion dip, and corn crisps--" The peal of the front doorbell stopped them in the hall. "Lucille?" Pete asked his wife. Blankly, she shrugged, then crossed the short foyer and opened the door. A young man in uniform burst in, his cap pushed crazily back on his short-cropped hair. "Pete--Beth--Listen!" he said. "Did you hear the news bulletin?" "Martin ..." Pete said, shaken. "Why aren't you at the base?" Martin Fenelly was a neighbor, a Space Reservist. "Dorothea's out in the car. We're headed there now. Come with us, please!" begged the young officer. "Something _is_ going to happen, then!" said Beth. "You bet your boots," said Martin. "Riots are starting all over the world. London, Chicago, Cairo.... Anyplace with public shelters. People are trampling one another to get in." "But the newscasters didn't say--" started Pete, simultaneously with Beth's halting, "Conelrad isn't on the air...." "Conelrad!" spat young Fenelly. "They don't dare use it. If they did, the panics would grow. Right now, there's still a chance of keeping some order. One warning to the populace, and the country becomes a mob, two hundred million strong!" "Pete--!" Beth turned to stare up into his face. "What should we do?" Pete licked dry lips, then looked shrewdly at Fenelly. "What's at the base? Shelters?"