“When the war started.”

“A bad attack?”

“I think so. I don’t know.” Charlene couldn’t answer that question, not with Salter Wherry gazing mutely at her. “Dr. Ferranti, do you have time to talk for a few moments with Dr. de Vries?”

The other woman looked up from her position by Wherry. “No. I’ve got my hands more than full here. But tell me the question, and I’ll see if I can give you a quick answer.”

“Thank you,” said de Vries humbly. “I’ll be brief. Back on Earth there are — or were — four hospitals equipped to perform complete parietal resection, with partial removal and internal stitching of the anterior commissure. It needs special tools and a complicated pre- and post-operative drug protocol. I would like to know if such an operation could be performed with the medical facilities available at Salter Station’s Med Center.”

“What the hell is he going on about?” asked Hans in a gruff whisper over his shoulder to Wolfgang. “The world’s going up in flames, and he’s playing shop talk about hospitals.”

Wolfgang gestured to Hans to keep quiet. Jan de Vries had stated many times that he was unencumbered in the world, an orphan with no living relatives, and no close friends. His griefs should not be for lost family or loved ones. But Wolfgang could see the look on de Vries’ face, and something there spoke of personal tragedy more than general Armageddon. A strange suspicion whispered into Wolfgang’s mind.

Dr. Ferranti finally turned her head to stare at de Vries’ image. “We don’t have the equipment. And seeing that” — she jerked her head at the main display unit — “I guess we’ll never have it.”

Salter Station’s orbit had steadily taken it farther west, to the sunlit side of Earth. Now they looked directly down on the Atlantic Ocean. The tiny dark ulcers on the Earth’s face had spread and merged. Most of Europe was totally obscured by a smoky pall, lit from within by lightning flashes and surface fire-storms. The east coast of the United States should have been coming into view, but it was hidden by a continuous roiling mass of dust and cloud.

And the seeker missiles were still being launched. As enemy targets were hit and vanished from the displays, new bright specks rose like the Phoenix from the seething turmoil that had been the United States, setting their paths over the pole toward Asia. The guiding hands that controlled them might be dead, but their instructions had long since been established in the control computers. If no one lived to stop it, the nuclear rain would fall until all arsenals were empty.

“Can you put together a facility for the operation?” asked de Vries at last. Unable to see the displays himself, he did not realize that everyone in the central control room was paralyzed by the scene of a dying Earth. His question was an urgent one, but no one would reply. Since the beginning of the day everything had taken place in a slow dream, as though the world around de Vries was already running down toward its final end.

“Can you build one?” he repeated.

Ferranti shivered, and finally replied. “If we wanted to we might be able to build a makeshift system to do the job — but it would take us at least five years. We’d be bootstrapping all the way, making equipment to make equipment.” She looked down again at Salter Wherry, and at once lost interest in talking further to de Vries. Wherry’s breathing was shallower, and he was trembling. He appeared to be unconscious.

“Come on,” she said to her assistant. “I didn’t want to move him yet, but we have no choice. We have to take him back to the center. At once, or he’ll be gone.”

With Wolfgang’s help, Wherry was carefully lifted on to the lightweight carrier. He still wore the breathing mask over his lower face. As he was lowered into position, his eyes opened. The pupils were dilated, the irises rimmed with yellowish-white. The eyeballs were sunk back and dark-rimmed. Wolfgang looked down into them and saw death there.

He begin to straighten up, but somehow the frail hand found the strength to grip his sleeve.

“You are with the Institute?” The words were faint and muffled.

“Yes.” It was a surprise to find that Wherry was still able to speak. “Come with me.” The weak voice could still command. Wolfgang nodded, then hesitated as Olivia Ferranti prepared to wheel Wherry slowly away. Charlene was speaking to de Vries again, asking the question that Wolfgang himself had wanted to ask.

“Jan,” she was saying. “We’ve tried to reach Niles. Where is she?” “She is here. On this ship.” De Vries put his hands to his eyes. “She’s unconscious. I didn’t want her to come. I wanted her to wait, build up her strength, have the operation, then follow us. She insisted on coming. And she was right. But back on Earth, she could have been helped. “Now…” Wolfgang struggled to make sense of de Vries’ words. But the frail hand was again on Wolfgang’s arm, and the thread of voice was speaking again. “Come. Now. Must talk now.”

Wolfgang hesitated for a second, then reluctantly followed the stretcher out of the control room.

Salter Wherry turned his head toward Wolfgang, and a dry tongue moved over the pale lips. “Stand close.”

“Don’t try to talk,” said Ferranti.

Wherry ignored her. “Must give message. Must tell Niles what is to be done. You listening?”

“I’m listening.” Wolfgang nodded. “Go ahead, I’ll make sure that she gets the message.”

“Tell her I know she saw through narcolepsy. Thought she might — too simple for her. Want her to know reason — real reason — why had to have her here.” There was a long pause. Wherry’s eyes closed. Wolfgang thought that he had lapsed into unconsciousness, but when the old voice spoke again it sounded stronger and more coherent.

“I had my own reasons for needing her — and she had hers for coming. I don’t know what they were; I want her to know mine. And I want her to carry plan out here. I hoped we wouldn’t blow ourselves up down there, but I had to prepare for worst. Just in time, eh?” There was a wheezing groan, that Wolfgang realized was a laugh. “Story of my life. Just in time. ‘Nother day, we’d have been too late.” He moved his arm feebly as Ferranti took it to make an injection. “No sedatives. Hurts — in my chest — but I can stand that. You, boy.” The eyes burned into Wolfgang. “Lean close. Can’t talk much more. Tell you my dream, want you to tell Niles to make it hers.”

Wolfgang stooped over the frail body. There was a long pause.

“Genesis. You remember Genesis?” Wherry’s voice was fading, indistinct. “Have to do what Genesis says. ‘Be fruitful and multiply.’ Fruitful, and multiply.” Wolfgang looked quickly at Ferranti. “He’s rambling.”

“Not rambling.” There was a faint edge of irritability still in the weak voice. “Listen. Made arcologies to go long way — seed universe. Be fruitful, and multiply. See? Self-sustaining, run thousand years — ten thousand. But can’t do it. We’re weak link. Fight, change minds, change societies, kill leaders, breakdown systems. Damned fools. Never last thousand years, not even hundred.” They had reached the Med Center, and Wherry was being lifted onto a table all prepared for emergency operations. A needle was sliding into his left arm, while a battery of bright lights went on all around them.

Wherry rolled his head with a last effort to face Wolfgang. “Tell Niles. Want her to develop suspended animation. That’s why need Institute on station.” The breathing mask had been removed, and there was a travesty of a smile on the tortured face. “Thought once I might be first experiment. See stars for myself. Sorry won’t be that way. But tell her. Tell her. Cold sleep… end of everything… sleep…”

Olivia Ferranti was at Wolfgang’s side. “He’s under,” she said. “We want you out of here — we’re going to operate now.”

“Can you save him?”

“I don’t think so. This is the third attack.” She bit her lip. For the first time, Wolfgang noticed her large, luminous eyes and sad mouth. “Last time it was a patch-up job, but we hoped it would last longer than this. One chance in ten, no more. Less unless we start at once.”