"No, sir. Senile, however."

"Should have killed him, Here's your copy of the plan."

"Sir? Speaking of old men-- Professor de la Paz can't stay here. Wouldn't live six months."

"That's best, isn't it?"

I tried to answer levelly, "You don't understand. He is greatly loved and respected. Best thing would be for me to convince him that you mean business with those H-missiles--and that it is his patriotic duty to salvage what we can. But, either way, if I return without him. .. well, not only could not swing it; wouldn't live long enough to try."

"Hmm-- Sleep on it. We'll talk tomorrow. Say fourteen o'clock."

I left and as soon as was loaded into lorry gave way to shakes. Just don't have high-level approach.

Stu was waiting with Prof. "Well?" said Prof.

I glanced around, tapped ear. We huddled, heads over Prof's head and two blankets over us all. Stretcher wagon was clean and so was my chair; I checked them each morning. But for room itself seemed safer to whisper under blankets.

Started in. Prof stopped me. "Discuss his ancestry and habits later. The facts."

"He offered me job of Warden."

"I trust you accepted."

"Ninety percent. I'm to study this garbage and give answer tomorrow. Stu, how fast can we execute Plan Scoot?"

"Started. We were waiting for you to return. If they let you return."

Next fifty minutes were busy. Stu produced a gaunt Hindu in a dhoti; in thirty minutes he was a twin of Prof, and lifted Prof off wagon onto a divan. Duplicating me was easier. Our doubles were wheeled into suite's living room just at dusk and dinner was brought in. Several people came and went --among them elderly Hindu woman in sari, on arm of Stuart LaJoie. A plump babu followed them.

Getting Prof up steps to roof was worst; he had never worn powered walkers, had no chance to practice, and had been flat on back for more than a month.

But Stu's arm kept him steady; I gritted teeth and climbed those thirteen terrible steps by myself. By time I reached roof, heart was ready to burst. Was put to it not to black out. A silent little flitter craft came out of gloom right on schedule and ten minutes later we were in chartered ship we had used past month--two minutes after that we jetted for Australia. Don't know what it cost to prepare this dance and keep it ready against need, but was no hitch.

Stretched out by Prof and caught breath, then said, "How you feel, Prof?"

"Okay. A bit tired. Frustrated."

"Ja da. Frustrated."

"Over not seeing the Taj Mahal, I mean. I never had opportunity as a young man--and here I've been within a kilometer of it twice, once for several days, now for another day... and still I haven't seen it and never shall."

"Just a tomb."

"And Helen of Troy was just a woman. Sleep, lad." We landed in Chinee half of Australia, place called Darwin, and were carried straight into a ship, placed in acceleration couches and dosed. Prof was already out and I was beginning to feel dopy when Stu came in, grinned, and strapped down by us. I looked at him. "You, too? Who's minding shop?"

"The same people who've been doing the real work all along. It's a good setup and doesn't need me any longer. Mannie old cobber, I did not want to be marooned a long way from home. Luna, I mean, in case you have doubts. This looks like the last train from Shanghai."

"What's Shanghai got to do with?"

"Forget I mentioned it. Mannie, I'm flat broke, concave. I owe money in all directions--debts that will be paid only if certain stocks move the way Adam Selene convinced me they would move, shortly after this point in history. And I'm wanted, or will be, for offenses against the public peace and dignity. Put it this way. I'm saving them the trouble of transporting me. Do you think I can learn to be a drillman at my age?"

Was feeling foggy, drug taking hold. "Stu, in Luna y'aren't old... barely started... 'nyway...eat our table f'ever! Mimi likes you."

"Thanks, cobber, I might. Warning light! Deep breath!"

Suddenly was kicked by ten gee.

20

Our craft was ground-to-orbit ferry type used for manned satellites, for supplying F.N. ships in patrol orbit, and for passengers to and from pleasure-and-gambling satellites. She was carrying three passengers instead of forty, no cargo except three p-suits and a brass cannon (yes, silly toy was along; p-suits and Prof's bang-bang were in Australia a week before we were) and good ship Lark had been stripped--total crew was skipper and a Cyborg pilot.

She was heavily overfueled.

We made (was told) normal approach on Elysium satellite... then suddenly scooted from orbital speed to escape speed, a change even more violent than liftoff.

This was scanned by F.N. Skytrack; we were commanded to stop and explain. I got this secondhand from Stu, self still recovering and enjoying luxury of no-gee with one strap to anchor. Prof was still out.

"So they want to know who we are and what we think we are doing," Stu told me. "We told them that we were Chinese registry sky wagon Opening Lotus bound on an errand of mercy, to wit, rescuing those scientists marooned on the Moon, and gave our identification--as Opening Lotus."

"How about transponder?"

"Mannie, if I got what I paid for, our transponder identified us as the Lark up to ten minutes ago... and now has I.D.'d us as the Lotus. Soon we will know. Just one ship is in position to get a missile off and it must blast us in"--he stopped to look--"another twenty-seven minutes according to the wired-up gentleman booting this bucket, or its chances of getting us are poor to zero. So if it worries you--if you have prayers to say or messages to send or whatever it is one does at such times--now is the time."

"Think we ought to rouse Prof?"

"Let him sleep. Can you think of a better way to make jump than from peaceful sleep instantaneously into a cloud of radiant gas? Unless you know that he has religious necessities to attend to? He never struck me as a religious man, orthodoctrinally speaking."

"He's not. But if you have such duties, don't let me keep you."

"Thank you, I took care of what seemed necessary before we left ground. How about yourself, Mannie? I'm not much of a padre but I'll do my best, if I can help. Any sins on your mind, old cobber? If you need to confess, I know quite a little about sin."

Told him my needs did not run that way. Then did recall sins, some I cherished, and gave him a version more or less true. That reminded him of some of his own, which remind me-- Zero time came and went before we ran out of sins. S LaJoie is a good person to spend last minutes with, even if don't turn out to be last.

We had two days with naught to do but undergo drastic routines to keep us from carrying umpteen plagues to Luna. But didn't mind shaking from induced chills and burning with fever; free fall was such a relief and was so happy to be going home.

Or almost happy-- Prof asked what was troubling me,~ "Nothing," I said. "Can't wait to be home. But-- Truth is, ashamed to show face after we've failed. Prof, what did we do wrong?"

"Failed, my boy?"

"Don't see what else can call it. Asked to be recognized. Not what we got."

"Manuel, I owe you an apology. You will recall Adam Selene's projection of our chances just before we left home." Stu was not in earshot but "Mike" was word we never used; was always "Adam Selene" for security.

"Certainly do! One in fifty-three. Then when we reached Earthside dropped to reeking one in hundred. What you guess it is now? One in thousand?"

"I've had new projections every few days...which is why I owe you an apology. The last, received just before we left, included the then-untested assumption that we would escape, get clear of Terra and home safely. Or that at least one of us three would make it, which is why Comrade Stu was summoned home, he having a Terran's tolerance of high acceleration. Eight projections, in fact, ranging from three of us dead, through various combinations up to three surviving. Would you care to stake a few dollars on what that last projection is, setting a bracket and naming your own odds? I'll give a hint. You are far too pessimistic."