rd again and again in
the committee rooms and investigation chambers. They were printed and
broadcast around the world, and they enabled General Oglethorpe to do
the thing that became a burning crusade with him.

He would probably have failed in his effort if those words hadn't been
spoken by a dying man while a shrieking, white-hot mass plunged through
the atmosphere to land, finally, in the waters of the Pacific.

The wreckage missed the city of San Francisco without the necessity of
guidance by the rocket fuel so preciously hoarded by West. The Wheel and
the _Griseda_ were doomed the moment the pilot, Cummins, decided to
shift the position of the ship with respect to the station.

* * * * *

In the anteroom of the Base Commander's office, Dr. Paul Medick rubbed
the palms of his hands against his trouser legs when the secretary
wasn't watching, and licked the dryness that burned the membrane of his
lips.

The secretary remembered him. She probably had been the one to make out
his severance papers and knew all about Oglethorpe's firing him.

Now she was no doubt wondering about the General's calling him back
after that bitter occasion--just as Paul himself was wondering.

But he was pretty sure he knew. If he were right it was the opportunity
of a lifetime, and he couldn't afford to muff it.

The girl turned at the sound of a buzz on the intercom. She smiled and
said, "You may go in now."

"Thanks." He stood up and told his nerves to quit remembering the last
time he passed through the door he was now entering. General Oglethorpe
was nobody but the Base Commander, and if Paul Medick got thrown out
once more he would be no worse off than he now was.

Oglethorpe looked up, a grim trace of a smile at the corners of his
mouth. He shook hands and indicated a chair by the desk, resuming his
own seat behind it. "You know why I called you--in spite of our past
differences."

Paul hesitated. He didn't want to show his anxiety--and hopefulness--He
weighed the answers that might be expected of him, and said, "It's this
crash thing--and the appeal of Captain West?"

"Would there be anything else?"

"I'm flattered that you thought of me."

"There's nothing personal involved, believe me! I'd a thousand times
rather have called somebody else--anybody else--but there's nobody that
can do the job you can."

"Thanks."

"Don't bother thanking me. I expect there'll still be a great deal o