"Administering abstract justice isn't my job. I imagine it's handled in more competent quarters. I have only to meet the objective situation. Which"--he paused--"is plenty! Hardwick, you've handled swamp-planet situations. What can be done to stop the sliding of the island's soil before it all goes overboard?" "Not much, offhand," said Hardwick. "Give me time and I'll manage something. But a really bad storm, with high seas and plenty of rain, might wipe out the whole civilian colony. That viscosity figure is close to hopeless--if not quite." The Sector Chief looked impassive. "How much time does he have, Werner?" "None!" said Werner shrilly. "The only possible thing is to try to move as many people as possible to the solid ground in the Arctic! The boats can be crowded--the situation demands it! And if the two space-craft in orbit are sent to collect a fleet, and as many people as possible are moved at once--there may be some survivors!" Hardwick spread out his hands. "I'm wondering," he observed, "what the really serious problem is. There's more than sliding soil the matter! Else you would ... I'm sure Lieutenant Barnes has thought of this ... let the civilian population into Headquarters to sit on its rump and wait for better times." Sandringham glanced at young Barnes, who flushed hotly at being noticed. "I'm sure you have good reasons, sir," he said embarrassedly. "I have several," said the Sector Chief dryly. "For one thing, so long as we refuse to let them in, they're reassured. They can't imagine we'd let them down. But if we invited them in they'd panic and fight to get in first. There'd be a full-scale slaughter right there! They'd be sure disaster was only minutes off. Which it would be!" He paused and glanced from one to the other of the senior officers. "When I sent for you," he said wryly, "I meant for you, Hardwick, to take care of the possible sliding. I meant for Werner, here, to do the public-relations job of scaring the civilians just enough to make them let it be done. It's not so simple, now!" He drew a deep breath. "It's pure chance that there is a Sector Headquarters. Or else it's Providence. We'll find that out later! But ten days ago it was discovered that an instrument had gone wrong over in the ship-fuel storage area. It didn't register when a tank leaked. And--a tank did leak. You know ship-fuel's harmless when it's refrigerated. You know what it's like when it's not. Dissolved in soil-moisture, it's not only catalyzed to explosive condition, but it's a hell of a corrosive, and it's eaten holes in some other tanks--and can you imagine trying to do anything about that?" Hardwick felt a sensation of incredulous shock. Werner wrung his hands. "If I could only find the man who made that faulty tank!" he said thickly. "He's killed all of us! All! Unless we get to solid ground in the Arctic!" The Sector Chief said calmly: