In the UN, the Israeli delegate crumpled a news dispatch and began speaking without notes, demanding that space be inter-nationalized. It was the greatest speech of his career, and even the delegate from Egypt applauded. But national survival could not be trusted to the shaky impartiality of the UN. The resolution was vetoed by both the United States and Russia. The Fourteenth Space Disarmament Conference was ended. II A month later, a thousand miles above Earth and exactly 180° behind the _Tsiolkovsky_, the _Goddard_ swung steadily around the globe in a two-hour circumpolar orbit. Outwardly, it looked like the great metal doughnut that space artists had pictured for decades. On the inside, however, the evidence of hasty, crash-planned work was everywhere. The air fans whined and vibrated, the halls creaked and groaned, and the water needed to maintain balance gurgled and banged through ill-conceived piping. It was cramped and totally inadequate for the needs of the nation that had put it into space eight years before in a rush attempt to match the Russian "Sulky". Jerry Blane should have been used to such conditions. He'd been one of the original space-struck men who'd helped to build it and then had been lucky enough to get a permanent assignment. Now he drifted in the weightless hub, watching the loading of a ship bound back for the home planet, wondering what hell's brew the boxes contained. The project that had usurped the cryogenic labs had involved its own crew of scientists, who were already on board the ship, taking their secret with them. He shrugged, trying to dismiss the problem. The motion twitched him about, and he corrected automatically. His tall, thin body was accustomed to weightlessness. Beside him, the head of the science corps on the station also floated in midair. The big body of Dr. Austin Peal was revealed in the single pair of shorts customary on the _Goddard_, and its darkness contrasted sharply with the blond hair and pale skin of Blane. Only the frowns matched. The short, intense figure of General Devlin popped into the hub from the tube elevator ahead of the pilot, Edwards. In spite of the weightlessness, the station commandant managed to pull himself to rigid attention at sight of Blane. He scowled, but held out his hand with formal correctness. "All right, Blane. You're in charge officially until I get back," he admitted grudgingly. He obviously resented the order that left a civilian in charge while he went down to testify for the station appropriations and receive new orders. "You'll find detailed notes on my desk. I suggest you follow them to the letter." He grabbed a handhold and began pulling himself into the airlock to the ship without waiting for a reply. Edwards had lingered. Now he also held out his hand. "Wish me luck, Jerry," he said. "I may need it." * * * * *