"They have somewhere less than five months. Then the Big Push comes. The eruptions will wipe out nine-tenths of the centers of community." He leaned across and pulled one sheet from the stack Shreve held. "Here is the position map." He indicated with quick, short jabs of his finger where the first earthquakes would hit, and followed blue lines to their terminuses. He extended his hands, palms upward, in a movement of futility and sadness. Shreve sat forward, sharply. He swept the cap from his head with one hand, ran the other through stringy, brown hair. He pursed his lips, muttered, "We've got to do something! It's more than just business potential ruined. There are people down there, Karl! Millions of them. We can't let them die!" "True," Teller stated simply, looking at his clasped hands. "But," he added, "what about the itinerary? They'll scream bloody blazes back there if you break schedule." He cocked a thumb toward the rear of the ship--toward Earth. "Karl, I've been pushing one of these cans for MerchArm over thirty years. I'll be thirty-one in August. I've never broken a schedule in my life--but this is ... this is something more important than bills of lading and sales curves!" His face had tightened, the character lines about his mouth standing forth. "We've got to save them, Karl. We've got to help those people down there!" Teller exhaled heavily. "All right, Luther. It's your choice. But you'd better produce something from those natives down there, or MerchArm might get unpleasant." Shreve nodded, his face sagged into weariness momentarily. Then he straightened and depressed the public-address stud on the couch arm. His orders were brief and direct. An hour later, ship-time, the great Wallower fired away with directional rockets, and began to fall toward the multi-colored sphere of Diamore. * * * * * High jungle surrounded the ship. Deep-red stringers of climbing vine meshed with the purple and green and blue of exotic tree-forms. From the edge of the dead path the Wallower had burned in settling, the patchwork melange of colored growth reared and spread. The analyzers were just completing their spore-counts when the Diamoraii burst from the jungle, thundered onto the charred ground of the clearing. They rode tall on the backs of their mounts, whooping and wailing in a minor key. The outside receivers, which had been left on in various parts of the _Wallower_, rattled tinnily at the noise. Men clasped hands to their ears and hurried to depress studs to shut out the din. Shreve and Teller whirled from their calculations and stared fascinated at the sight in the plates.