"That's quite impossible," Winter said. "We're in the midst of the Blight." "What's the Blight?" I asked, making conversation as I looked around the room, trying to pick out the best door to leave by. There were three. I decided on the one no one had come through yet. I moved towards it. "The Blight is a region of utter desolation, radiation, and chaos," Winter was saying. "There are whole ranges of A-lines where the very planet no longer exists, where automatic cameras have recorded nothing but a vast ring of debris in orbit; then there are the cinder-worlds, and here and there dismal groups of cancerous jungles, alive with radiation-poisoned mutations. It's frightful, old chap. You can wave the pistol at me all night, but it will get you nothing. In a few hours we'll arrive at Zero Zero; you may as well relax until then." I tried the door, it was locked. "Where's the key?" I said. "There's no key. It will open automatically at the base." I went to one of the other doors, the one the man with the box had entered through. I pulled it open and glanced out. The humming sound was louder and down a short and narrow corridor I saw what appeared to be a pilot's compartment. A man's back was visible. "Come on, Winter," I said. "Go ahead of me." "Don't be a complete ass, old boy," Winter said, looking irritated. He turned toward his desk. I raised the pistol. The shot boomed inside the walls of the room, and Winter leaped back from the desk holding a ripped hand. He whirled on me, for the first time looking really scared. "You're insane," he shouted. "I've told you we're in the midst of the Blight." I was keeping one eye on the man up front, who was looking over his shoulder while frantically doing something with his other hand. "You're leaking all over that nice rug," I said. "I'm going to kill you with the next one. Stop this machine." Winter was pale; he swallowed convulsively. "I swear, Mr. Bayard, that's utterly impossible. I'd rather you shoot me. You have no conception of what you're suggesting." I saw now that I was in the hands of a dangerous lunatic. I believed Winter when he said he'd rather die than stop this bus--or whatever it was. In spite of my threat, I couldn't shoot him in cold blood. I turned and took three steps up the passage and poked the automatic into the small of the back that showed there. "Cut the switch," I said. The man, who was one of the two who had been standing by when I awoke in the office, continued to twist frantically at a knob on the panel before him. He glanced at me, but kept on twiddling. I raised the pistol and fired a shot into the instrument panel. The man jumped convulsively, and threw himself forward, protecting the panel with his body. "Stop, you bloody fool," he shouted. "Let us explain!" "I tried that," I said. "It didn't work. Get out of my way. I'm bringing this wagon to a halt one way or another."