_The men on the space station had a word for trouble--"thunder." Always it had been thunder on earth. Now, with the warheads decaying and the Soviets playing a mysterious game, now there was ..._ THUNDER in SPACE By LESTER del REY Illustrated by FINLAY [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories June 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I In the little formal garden in Geneva, the guards had withdrawn discreetly, out of sight and hearing of the two men who sat on a carved marble bench in the center of the enclosure. The President of the United States was too old for the days of strained public and private meetings and the constant badgering of his advisers that had preceded this final, seemingly foredoomed effort. His hands trembled as he lifted them to light a cigarette. Only his voice still held its accustomed calm. "Then it's stalemate, Feodor Stepanovich. I can make no more concessions without risking impeachment." The dark, massive head of the Russian Premier nodded. "Nor can I, without committing political suicide." His English was better than the rural dialect of Russian he still retained. "Call it a double checkmate. Our predecessors sowed their seeds too deep for our spades. Or should I say, too high?" Both heads turned to the north, where a bright spot was climbing above the horizon. The space station sparkled in sunlight far above Earth, sliding with Olympian deliberation past a few visible stars until it was directly overhead. Without a timetable or a telescope, there was no way of knowing whether it was the Russian _Tsiolkovsky_ or the American _Goddard_, nor did either man care. Half the world lived in almost hysterical fear of one or the other, with the rest of the human race existing in terror of both. The Premier muttered something from the ugliness of his childhood experiences, but the President only sighed unhappily, as if sorry that his own background gave him no such expressions. A few minutes later, the leaders separated. As they moved across the garden, their escorts surrounded them, clearing the way toward the cars that would take them to the airport. Behind them, professional diplomats stopped puzzling over the delay and began spinning obfuscations to cynical reporters. The phrases had long since lost all meaning, but the traditions of propaganda had to be maintained.