had the first one.
He was entirely unsure that he was even rational any more.
But he had to know. Nothing was important to him now but
the answer to the main question, the permanent founding or
dashing of the hope under which he had lived so long.
RuUman was already back in the office, almost surrounded
by his staff. Sweeney pushed his way forward among the
Ganymedians, his jaw set, his diaphragm laboring.
“This time we’re going to close all the safety doors,” Rull-
man said into the phone. “The pressure fronts are going to be
too steep to allow us to rely on the outside locks alone. See to
it that everybody knows where he’s to be as soon as the alert
sounds, and this time make it stick; we don’t want anybody
trapped between doors for the duration. This time it may
swoop down on us at damn short notice.”
The phone murmured and cut out.
“Hallam, how’s the harvesting? You’ve got less than a week,
you know.”
“Yes, Dr. Rullmanwe’ll be through in time.”
“And another thingoh, hello, Donald. What’s the mat-
ter? You’re looking a little pasty. I’m pretty busy, so make it
fast, please.”
“I’ll make it fast,” Sweeney said. “I can put it all into one
question if I can talk to you privately. For just a few sec-
onds,”
Rullman’s reddish eyebrows went up, but after examining
Sweeney’s face more closely, the scientist nodded and rose.
“Come next door, then. . . . Now then, youngster, spit it out.
With the storm coming up, we don’t have time for shilly-
shallying.”
“All right,” Sweeney said, taking a long breath. “This is it: