There was also the problem of women. One woman to every three men. How would this be solved? Was there any answer other than heartaches, frustration, hate, even murder?

"I had a dream," said Broward to them. "I dreamed that we on the Moon were building a great tower which would reach up to the Earth and that was our only way to get back to Earth. But everybody spoke a different tongue, and we couldn't understand each other. Therefore, we kept putting the bricks in the wrong places or getting into furious but unintelligible argument about construction."

He stopped, saw they expected more, and said, "I'm sorry. That's all there was. But the moral is obvious."

"Yes," said Ingrid, stroking the head of the wriggling puppy. She looked up at Earth, close to the horizon. "The physicists say it'll be two hundred years before we can go back. Do you realize that, barring accident or war, all three of us might live to see that day? That we might return with our great-great-great-great-great-great grandchildren? And we can tell them of the Earth that was, so they will know how to build the Earth that must be."

'Two hundred years?" said Broward. "We won't be the same persons then."

But he doubted that even the centuries could change Scone. The man was made of rock. He would not bend or flow. Broward felt sorry for him. He would be a fossil, truly a stone man, a petrified hero.

"We'll never get back unless we do today's work every day," said Scone. "I'll worry about Earth when it's time to worry. Let's go; we've work to do."

Broward was walking down a corridor when he felt the rock beneath his feet tremble. Far, far below him, a battery of lasers was drilling into the depths of the Moon. Primarily, the drillers were looking for water, and they were sure that they were headed for a huge pocket of the liquid in one form or another. Secondarily, hollowing out tunnels would increase the Lebensraum for the inhabitants of Clavius. Some day, the population would be large enough to need that extra room.

That is, thought Broward, it would if the survivors of mankind could agree on a means of keeping peace. At the moment, that did not seem very likely.

He stopped before a door and spoke into the outline of a square set above a blank screen. It sprang into life; Ingrid Nashdoi's features appeared on it. Seeing Broward, she smiled and brushed back a lock of light brown hair hanging over one forehead.

Like all on the Clavian base, she had a small circular area on the right side of her head where the hair had been shaved off before the bonephone was removed.

Broward walked in, looked around, and said, "Where's Miller?"

"Scone called a meeting. As a matter of fact, he came here to tell Miller he was wanted. I don't know why he didn't use the com."

Broward grinned sourly. Ingrid said, "I hate myself. I'm not being honest. And I'm not fooling you. Scone is interested in me. I guess everybody knows that. Accept my apologies?"

"That's one reason I love you," said Broward. "You're honest."

"My! How popular I've suddenly become! You're the second man who's told me that today."

"The other one was Scone?"

Ingrid laughed and said, "Hardly! Do you think Scone would put himself in a position to be rejected? No, if he. asks me to marry him. he'll do so when he's dead sure that I won't or can't refuse."

"I wonder why Scone didn't tell me there was a meeting?" said Broward.

"You didn't hear a word I was saying. You don't really love me."

Broward said, "I wish I thought you really cared. But..."

"Scone called a meeting of the scientists who are responsible for our food supply. He did say something to Miller about Miller's also being present at a policy meeting later. I imagine you won't be left out of that."

Broward looked relieved. He smiled and said, "Who was the other man, Ingrid?"

"What other man? Oh... you mean...? Well, that's a private affair. However, I expect others soon. It won't be so flattering, though. It's just that... well, when cows are scarce, the price is high."

"What?"

"There are three and a half men to every woman on the Moon," replied Ingrid. "Don't ask me how the statisticians account for all those half-men walking around without heads or arms. Can't you just see them?"

She laughed; Broward grinned slightly. He said, "It's very serious. We have to increase the population, and we must use all the genes available. Can't have inbreeding, you know."

"I'm a psychologist," she said, "but it doesn't need a psychologist to predict trouble ahead. I overheard Doctor Abarbanel yesterday. You know her, the tall, many-curved, dark-haired, thick-lipped, disgustingly sultry biochemist? She said that the women on the base will just have to get used to group-marriage. She seemed to like the idea."

"She was serious?"

"Why shouldn't she be? You have any better ideas?" "Not at present," said Broward. "I don't like the idea though. What about Scone? He'd never sanction it. He's a strict moralist, at least in sexual matters. When it comes to spilling blood, that's something else."

"I couldn't stand the idea of you... that is..."

Ingrid came up to him, put her hands on his shoulders, and looked carefully at him. "If you were serious a moment ago, why don't you say so?"

He took her into his arms, kissed her a long time. Then, releasing her, he said, "I've known for about a week that I loved you, Ingrid. But I didn't think that now was the time to start courting. There's too much to do just now; things are too uncertain."

She gave a little laugh and said, "'If all men were like you in times of trouble, the human race would be extinct. People don't wait until they're sure the bombs are going to quit bursting. Why do you think that, despite the millions killed, there were more people on Earth at the end of the Second World War than there were when it started?"

"I don't like to start anything I'm not sure I can finish."

"In some ways, you're worse than Scone," she said. "But I love you."

"I don't want to share you with any other men," he said fiercely.

"I'm glad you don't. I wouldn't like it if you said it was all right, it was for the glory of the state and humankind. But..."

"But what?" said Broward. Ingrid opened her mouth but closed it when Broward's name was announced over the IP. He listened, then said, "This is what I've been waiting for. Scone is going to brief us on the meeting with the representatives from the other bases."

"They're coming here? How did he manage that?"

"He holds the key to the future of man. The Zemlya. The Russ and the Chinese have to play along with him. But I don't think Scone is going to get what he wants without a long hard struggle."

Clavius is a crater near the south pole of the Moon. It is so wide across that a man standing on its floor in the center cannot even see its towering walls; they are hidden beyond the curve of the horizon. And the Earth always hangs just a little above the horizon. It was towards the Earth that those first entering the conference looked. They could not help it, for Scone had had the ceiling and one wall depolarized for transparency, and those within the room could see the great globe. Their first thought was what Scone had wanted; the dead Earth made sure of that. All life there is gone, and we are the survivors. It is up to us to ensure that life does not die entirely in the solar system.

The room itself was carved out of rock and normally was used for recreation. Now, the gaming machines and tables had been pushed against the wall and about a hundred aluminum folding chairs were arranged in rows facing the platform. On this was a large rectangular table with eleven chairs which faced the audience. Scone sat in the middle chair. Immediately on his right was Dahlquist, the Swedish linguist, delegate of the West Europeans (all of whom had taken refuge in Clavius after their base was wrecked). The four Russian delegates sat on Scone's right; the Chinese, on his left.