"Of course. They were certain I was your direct representative. No doubt about that."

"And they said?"

"That there are things more precious than life; that their people could never tolerate a foreign rule--" He hesitated for a moment, and then added, hastily, "And that we were bluffing."

"I expected it, of course. But I could hope. Now... . Leland, is there no answer?"

The President asked the last much in the spirit of a man appealing to a doctor who has told him he has but three weeks to live.

"There is only one answer, sir. I was sent to tell them to submit all their armaments to us or we would destroy them. They said it was a bluff. The only thing to do is--to destroy them."

"Leland, you know I could never do that," said the President, looking down at his hands. "Perhaps the rulers, yes. But think of the innocent men, women, and children... . the uncounted millions--" He looked up. "It's strange, isn't it? If a state of war existed between us, then perhaps I would. But no such state exists. Ostensibly we are friendly nations. I might rouse our people to a point where they would support a war--but I could never justify it. The enemy will go just so far, and no further. They are careful not to give us an excuse."

He paused a moment. "How cruel it would sound: 'He could find no solution but slaughter!" If we used the weapon once, what would the world think? How could we ever hope for peace?"

"But, sir, the risk--"

"With one hundred million lives at stake, no risk is too great! What would history say? What would all Christian instinct tell us?"

"If we only had time."

"Time? How I hate that word. Yes, yes. If we had time--In twenty or thirty years we could discontinue the s.p.a.ce Stations. But not now."

The President looked up at the ceiling. And beyond it. He shuddered.

The President called in Senator Tyler of New York, leader of the opposition in Congress. The President did not like him personally.

And, yet, this was not a question of personalities.

"Senator, please be seated," he said, after shaking the man's hand as warmly as possible.

The senator sat down, and, without asking, extracted a cigar. He lit it.

The President set his lips grimly. "I have asked you here on a matter of vital interest to this country. Vital. Anything that I tell you today is in the strictest confidence."

The senator leaned back. He did not commit himself.

The President ruffed some papers on his desk.

"I want to stress the importance of secrecy. The newspapers must never discover what I am about to tell you. It would... . well, it would throw the world into a panic."

"That is very strong language, Mr. President."

The President looked him over carefully. He was a huge man. Fat.

Heavy jowls. Tiny eyes. Eyes that glittered with shrewdness.

And the President wished it weren't necessary to tell him.

Outside, unknown to the senator, a secret service man was waiting for him to leave the office. From this day, the senator would be watched every hour of the day and night. His private mail would be opened--his telephones tapped--everything he said and did monitored by the secret service.

And if he started to reveal the secret, his life would be extinguished like a cupped candle.

The President stood up. "No, keep your seat," he said. "I a.s.sure you that it is not a strong statement." He walked across the room. "Let me ask you once again to call off this investigation. If you were to say the word--"

"Mr. President, that is impossible. The people have a right to know," he sucked on his cigar, "that every safeguard is being taken to insure that the s.p.a.ce Stations are manned by loyal American citizens."

If that were only the problem, the President thought.

"Why," the senator went on, "think of what would happen if an enemy spy managed to get control of a Station--he could wipe out half of the United States merely by flicking his wrist." Here the senator flicked ashes onto the carpet by way of emphasis.

Almost automatically the President thought, Mrs. Thorne, the housekeeper, will be very angry. He caught himself. Of late his mind had a 3 tendency to rove, and to concern itself with the inconsequential.

The President said: "Let me a.s.sure you that every precaution is being taken. Each man is checked so thoroughly that we know him better than he knows himself. Will you call o the investigation?"

"NO! You're hiding something, and we are going to find out what!

Don't forget that we have the right--"

"You win," the President said wearily. "I was afraid of it. It's not the loyalty check that you want to look into--you're after something else.

Something's wrong, and you don't know quite what, but you intend to find out."

"Exactly," the senator said, smiling.

"If you go through with this investigation, it would result in publicity that we could not stand. There is a chance, because you gentlemen are so thorough, that you would discover what I am concealing. To prevent that, I am going to be frank with you. For, after all, one man is easier to bind to secrecy than fifteen. After you hear me out, I am sure that you will call off the investigation."

"I must reserve judgment," the senator told him.

"Very well. But, sir, remember that you have forced me. The responsibility, and the consequences, are yours, and yours alone."

"Naturally," the senator said. "I can look after myself."

The President walked to the wall chart. He unrolled it, and it rustled dryly.

"I am going to cover material with which you are completely familiar.

You will forgive me, but it is necessary to stress a few points. But first, are you sure--?"

"Get on with it; I'm listening."

"These," the President said, pointing to circles in red on the map, "are our nine s.p.a.ce Stations. You will note that they are located so that, at every second, some station is in direct target line with every point on Earth. Due to physical considerations, the stations move very rapidly in their orbits. But this has been made to serve a military purpose. To destroy this defense network, it is necessary to destroy every station, because every station, in its...o...b..t, comes within range of every point on Earth. One might be eliminated, or maybe even two, with our present technical knowledge, but not all nine. And each one, in the s.p.a.ce of ninety seconds from a given signal, can blanket an area half the size of Asia with atomic destruction. Each s.p.a.ce station carries enough pure death to annihilate any nation on Earth!"

He paused.

"It is a perfect defense against an atom bomb. But, at the same time, it is a negative defense. It cannot prevent this nation from being attacked. But an attacker would, at most, launch only a few dozen rockets before he was completely and utterly destroyed.

"And it is our only defense against aggression. It is all that we have. All of our atomic power is concentrated in those nine stations.

If they were to be grounded tomorrow, we would be practically defenseless. Any one of several countries could conquer us within the s.p.a.ce of weeks."

The President let the chart snap back on its roller.

"In effect, we rule the world. But, as you know, our 'rule' is of a negative sort. We rule by threat." He laughed dryly. "We have something hanging over their heads. They--the enemy, shall I say?--knows that we will never take positive action without strong justification--without what must amount to an open declaration of war upon us, or a definitely aggressive move against one of her weak neighbors. Therefore, the enemy has a wide range of free action.

Their only consideration is this: 'Will America use the s.p.a.ce Stations to stop us?", and if the answer is 'no,' then they may proceed."

He looked down at the senator.

"The international situation has become pretty much of a touch and go affair. Bluff and counter bluff."

"I know all that," the senator replied.

"You will recall, also, the only time that we used a s.p.a.ce Station.

The whole world shuddered."

"Of course. Who doesn't remember? Russia was bent on setting up a s.p.a.ce Station of her own. We warned her. But she thought it was a bluff. The day they were ready to launch it, we dropped a single bomb on it. After all, we couldn't permit another nation to have a Station.

It would be intolerable."

"Yes," the President said, musingly, "one tiny bomb. Not an attack-but only one bomb. And yet the feeling ran high against us. Both here and abroad.

The people of the world felt that surely some other means could have been found. Not involving death!"

The President sighed. "It postponed for ten years at least the day when we would no longer need s.p.a.ce Stations."

The President walked over and sat down.

"Russia, you will remember, protested to the U. N. She wanted the Stations placed under international control. We could not permit that, because, primarily, the Stations are not a method of enforcing peace, but of defending our own country against any and all aggressors.

Russia could take no further action--for she existed only under our sufferance. She had merely gambled and lost."

"I, and any high school child," the senator said, "know that. Please come to the point."

The President ignored him. "The whole problem of s.p.a.ce Stations is to much for one man. I wish that I had never heard of them!"

The senator put out his cigar.

"Well, senator, let me review.

"You realize that s.p.a.ce Stations are our only defense?"

The senator grunted. "Yes."

"And that we cannot use them offensively against an enemy unless she gives us ample justification?"

"Yes."

"And do you know that if we discontinued them, we would be attacked tomorrow? By a nation who would absorb a calculated amount of destruction in order to dominate the world--by a ruthless enemy, an enemy who bears us not the slightest love?"

The senator snorted.

And the President smiled. "Of course," he said, "we could surrender to the enemy."

The senator jerked upright. It was an effort that made his face red.

"Man, do you realize what you're saying!"

"Calm down," the President advised. "I know my oath of office as well as you do."

He hesitated a moment while the senator settled back somewhat uneasily.

"What I have done is merely mention various alternatives that would confront us if we decided to discontinue the s.p.a.ce Stations. Bloodshed or subjugation. The alternatives are all untenable."

"Naturally," the senator said.

"But I must discontinue the s.p.a.ce Stations," the President told him as mildly as if he were mentioning that eggs were on the White House breakfast menu for tomorrow.

"That will be impossible for many years," the senator said with equal mildness.

"Oh, but I don't have many years, senator. In fact I don't have any time at all."

The President got up again and walked over to the far wall and stood looking at a picture of President Lincoln. He put his hands behind his back and seemed to be talking, not to the senator, but to the picture.

"Now you can begin to appreciate my position."

Adam Kregg had, for a long time, been covering the national picture, as it looked from Washington, in his daily column. Recently he had been writing on the seriousness of the military situation, and of repeated rumors "from high official sources" that the United States was planning to attack the enemy without warning. He deplored these reports, as a matter of course. He pointed out that, at present, we were in no danger; indeed, that we were able to keep peace, although an uneasy sort of peace, and that since affairs couldn't get worse, they were bound to get better.

"It is possible," he wrote, "that within the next twenty years, if we continue on our present policy, differences between both nations may be resolved. At any rate, it is obvious that we can gain nothing by the use of force; it can only result in needless bloodshed. It is not justifiable.

Eventually every nation will see, by our judicious use of the s.p.a.ce Stations, that we do not seek to rule, but that we do seek to live in Peace, unmolested by any aggressor."

Undoubtedly, Mr. Kregg had the welfare of man at heart. However, he was, first and foremost, a reporter. He had an unfailing nose for news. He could put 2 and 2 and 2 and 2 together every time and come up with the correct total. A hint here, a word there, an omission elsewhere, and Adam Kregg had a scoop.

Washington was honeycombed with his sources. And nothing was sacred.

If it was startling, if it would set well in type, then Mr. Kregg put it in his column.

Several times he had roused the wrath of the government. They called him irresponsible. Others called him a brave and fearless reporter.

And his motto was "All the News." Period. He would rather chop off his two hands than suppress a story.

To him nothing was confidential. Everything was grist for his mill.

Once the government sought to bring a criminal action against him. The nation's press took up the hue and cry: "If convicted, this will mean the end of a free press in America."

And Adam Kregg went happily on his way, reporting "all the news." That is, until he happened across the most closely guarded of government secrets.