t, then all those who have died in the past
six years will have died in vain."_

He had gone on, exploring and explaining the ramifications of the plans
for the next few weeks, but he had carefully kept it on the same level.
It had been an emotional sort of speech, but it had been purposely so,
in answer to the sort of emotionalism that the weakening minority had
attempted to use on him.

Men had died, yes. But what of that? Men had died before for far less
worthwhile causes. And men, do what they will, will die eventually. In
the back of his mind, he had recalled the battle-cry of some sergeant of
the old United States Marines during an early twentieth-century war. As
he led his men over the top, he had shouted, "_Come on, you sons of
bitches! Do you wanna live forever?_"

But Mannheim hadn't mentioned it aloud to the Executive Council.

Nor had he pointed out that ten thousand times as many people had died
during the same period through preventable accidents. That would not
have had the effect he wanted.

These particular men had died for this particular purpose. They had not
asked to die. They had not known they were being sacrificed. None of
them could be said to have died a hero's death. They had died simply
because they were in a particular place at a particular time.

They had been allowed to die for a specific purpose. To abort that
purpose at this time would be to make their deaths, retroactively,
murder.

Mannheim put his head on the pillow and lifted his feet up on the bed.
All he wanted was a few minutes of relaxation. He'd get ready for sleep
later. He pressed the control button on the bedframe that lifted the
head of the bed up so that he was in a semi-reclining position. He
picked up his drink and took a second long pull from it.

Then he touched the phone switch and put the receiver to his ear.

"Beta-beta," he said when he heard the tone.

He heard the hum, and he knew that the ultraprivate phone on the desk of
Dr. Farnsworth, in St. Louis, was signaling. Then Farnsworth's voice
came over the linkage.

"_F_ here."

"_M_ here," Mannheim replied. Then he asked guardedly, "Any sign of our
boy?"

"None."

"Keep on him," Mannheim said. "Let me know immediately."

"Will do. Any further?"

"No. Carry on." Mannheim cut off the phone.

Where the hell had Stanton disappeared to, and why? He had wanted to
bring the young man to Government City to show him off before the
Executives. It would