He was slightly nauseous; very dizzy; and his instincts told him that he needed a gallon of coffee as soon as he could get it. Then the medic's voice penetrated. "Please, sir, you must rest. No excitement." Almost, he was persuaded. It would be so easy to relax; to give someone else the responsibility. But the concept of responsibility brought him struggling up again. Hot Rod was a dangerous weapon. He could not act irresponsibly. "How long was I out?" he muttered. The medic glanced at the clock. "Just over nineteen hours, sir." "Wha-at? You dared to keep me off duty that long? I must report for duty at once." "Please, sir. No excitement. You must rest. Just a moment and I'll call Dr. Green." With that the medic turned and fled. As Dr. Green approached, Steve Elbertson was already on his feet, swaying dizzily, white as a sheet, but perhaps the latter was more from anger than from anything else. "Major Elbertson. You received a severe dose of radiation. You are under my personal supervision and will return to bed at once." "Is the flare over?" Elbertson asked the question, although already vaguely aware that the ship was again spinning, that he was standing on the floor fairly firmly, and that, therefore, the emergency must be over. "Yes." "In that case, sir, my duty is to my post on Hot Rod." "Hot Rod's out of commission and so are you. I cannot be responsible for the consequences if you do not follow my orders." "Explain that, please. About Hot Rod, I mean." "Why, it was struck by a meteor shortly after the flare last night. I think I heard someone say that it burned out Thule Base before they managed to turn it off." Without waiting for more, Elbertson brushed past the doctor and headed for the bridge. The captain was startled by the mad-looking, unshaven scarecrow of an officer that approached him, demanding in a near-scream, "What happened? What have you done? What did you DO to Project Hot Rod? No one should have tampered with it without my direct order! Captain, if that mechanism has been ruined, I'll have them nail your hide to the door!" "Major!" The captain stood. "This may be a civilian post, but you are still an officer and I am your superior. Return to your quarters and clean up. Then report to me properly!" For a moment there was seething rebellion on Elbertson's already wild features. Then, automatonlike, he turned and walked stiffly away without saluting. But the stiffness left him as he passed through the door. Momentarily he sagged against a wall for support, far weaker than he thought possible for a man of his youth and what he thought of as his condition. Making his way almost blindly to Security's quarters in rim-section B-5, he staggered through the door and on towards the latrine, shouting at Chauvenseer to "Get out of that sack and give me a detailed report on events since the flare. Oh, and send somebody for coffee--lots of coffee." * * * * *