erse--that's the word,
reverse--those atoms and send them spinning off into space as
contra-terrene matter.

"It all boils down to putting a man in a machine on Mars, pulling a
lever, materializing him here five thousand years later." Jason smiled
with only a trace of humor, "Any questions?"

"About a thousand," said Temple. "I--"

* * * * *

Something buzzed on Jason's desk and Temple watched him pick up a
microphone, say: "Co-ordinator speaking. What's up?"

The voice which answered, clear enough to be in the room with them and
without the faintest trace of mechanical or electrical transfer, spoke
in a strange, liquid-syllabled language Temple had never heard. Jason
responded in the same language, with an apparent ease which surprised
Temple--until he remembered that his brother had always had a knack of
picking up foreign languages. Maybe that was why he held the
Co-ordinator's job--whatever it was he co-ordinated.

There was fluency in the way Jason spoke, and alarm. The trouble-lines
etched deeply on his face stood out sharply, his eyes, if possible,
grew more intense. "Well," he said, putting the mike down and staring
at Temple without seeing him, "I'm afraid that does it."

"What's the trouble?"

"Everything."

"Anything I can do?"

"Item. The Superboys have discovered that Earth has two contingents
here--us and the Soviets. They're mad. Item. Something will be done
about it. Item. Soviet Russia has made a suggestion, or that is, its
people here. They will put forth a champion to match one of our own
choosing in the toughest grind of all, something to do with responding
to environmental challenge, which doesn't mean a hell of a lot unless
you happen to know something about it. Shall I go on?"

And, when Temple nodded avidly. "We automatically lose by default. One
of the rules of that particular game is that the contestant must be a
newcomer. It's the sort of game you have to know nothing about, and
incidentally, it's also the sort of game a man can get killed at.
Well, the Soviets have a whole contingent of newcomers to pick from.
We don't have any. As the Superboys see it, that's our own tough luck.
We lose by default."

"It seems to me--"

"How can anything 'seem to you?' You're new here.... I'm sorry Kit.
What were you saying?"

"No. Go ahead."

"That's only the half of it. Right after Russia takes our place and
we're scratched off the list, the games go into