After a short walk through a tunnel packed with pipes and cables, and echoing hollowly with rhythmic thumpings and throbbings, they arrived in executive territory, and Floyd found himself back in the familiar environment of typewriters, office computers, girl assistants, wall charts, and ringing telephones. As they paused outside the door labeled ADMINISTRATOR, Halvorsen said diplomatically: "Dr. Floyd and I will be along to the briefing room in a couple of minutes."

The others nodded, made agreeable sounds, and drifted off down the corridor. But before Halvorsen could usher Floyd into his office, there was an interruption, The door opened, and a small figure hurled itself at the Administrator.

"Daddy! You've been Topside! And you promised to take me!"

"Now, Diana," said Halvorsen, with exasperated tenderness, "I only said I'd take you if I could. But I've been very busy meeting Dr. Floyd. Shake hands with him – he's just come from Earth."

The little girl – Floyd judged that she was about eight – extended a limp hand. Her face was vaguely familiar, and Floyd suddenly became aware that the Administrator was looking at him with a quizzical smile. With a shock of recollection, he understood why.

"I don't believe it!" he exclaimed. "When I was here last she was just a baby!"

"She had her fourth birthday last week," Halvorsen answered proudly. "Children grow fast in this low gravity. But they don't age so quickly – they'll live longer than we do."

Floyd stared in fascination at the self-assured little lady, noting the graceful carriage and the unusually delicate bone structure. "It's nice to meet you again, Diana," he said. Then something – perhaps sheer curiosity, perhaps politeness – impelled him to add: "Would you like to go to Earth?"

Her eyes widened with astonishment; then she shook her head.

"It's a nasty place; you hurt yourself when you fall down. Besides, there are too many people,"

So here, Floyd told himself, is the first generation of the Spaceborn; there would be more of them in the years to come. Though there was sadness in this thought, there was also a great hope. When Earth was tamed and tranquil, and perhaps a little tired, there would still be scope for those who loved freedom, for the tough pioneers, the restless adventurers. But their tools would not be ax and gun and canoe and wagon; they would be nuclear power plant and plasma drive and hydroponic farm. The time was fast approaching when Earth, like all mothers, must say farewell to her children.

With a mixture of threats and promises, Halvorsen managed to evict his determined offspring and led Floyd into the office. The Administrator's suite was only about fifteen feet square, but it managed to contain all the fittings and status symbols of the typical $50,000 a year head of a department. Signed photographs of important politicians – including the President of the United States and the Secretary General of the United Nations – adorned one wall, while signed photos of celebrated astronauts covered most of another.

Floyd sank into a comfortable leather chair and was given a glass of "sherry," courtesy of the lunar biochemical labs. "How's it going, Ralph?" Floyd asked, sipping the drink with caution, then with approval.

"Not too bad," Halvorsen replied. "However, there is something you'd better know about, before you go in there."

"What is it?'

"Well, I suppose you could describe it as a morale problem," Halvorsen sighed.

"Oh?"

"It isn't serious yet, but it's getting there fast." "The news blackout," Floyd said flatly. "Right," Halvorsen replied. "My people are getting very steamed up about it. After all, most of them have families back on Earth; they probably believe they're all dead of moon-plague."

"I'm sorry about that," said Floyd, "but no one could think of a better cover story, and so far it's worked. By the way – I met Moisevitch at the Space Station, and even he bought it."

"Well, that should make Security happy."

"Not too happy – he'd heard of TMA-1; rumors are beginning to leak out. But we just can't issue any statement, until we know what the damn thing is and whether our Chinese friends are behind it."

"Dr. Michaels thinks he has the answer to that. He's dying to tell you."

Floyd drained his glass. "And I'm dying to hear him. Let's go."

The briefing took place in a large rectangular chamber that could hold a hundred people with ease. It was equipped with the latest optical and electronic displays and would have looked like a model conference room but for the numerous posters, pinups, notices, and amateur paintings which indicated that it was also the center of the local cultural life. Floyd was particularly struck by a collection of signs, obviously assembled with loving care, which carried such messages as PLEASE KEEP OFF THE GRASS... NO PARKING ON EVEN DAYS... DEFENSE DE FUMER... TO THE BEACH... CATTLE CROSSING... SOFT SHOULDERS and DO NOT FEED THE ANIMALS. If these were genuine – as they certainly appeared to be – their transportation from Earth had cost a small fortune. There was a touching defiance about them; on this hostile world, men could still joke about the things they had been forced to leave behind – and which their children would never miss.

A crowd of forty or fifty people was waiting for Floyd, and everyone rose politely as he entered behind the Administrator. As he nodded at several familiar faces, Floyd whispered to Halvorsen "I'd like to say a few words before the briefing."

Floyd sat down in the front row, while the Administrator ascended the rostrum and looked round his audience.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Halvorsen began, "I needn't tell you that this is a very important occasion. We are delighted to have Dr. Heywood Floyd with us. We all know him by reputation, and many of us are acquainted with him personally. He has just completed a special flight from Earth to be here, and before the briefing he has a few words for us. Dr. Floyd," Floyd walked to the rostrum amid a sprinkling of polite applause, surveyed the audience with a smile, and said: "Thank you – I only want to say this. The President has asked me to convey his appreciation of your – outstanding work, which we hope the world will soon be able to recognize. I'm quite aware," he continued carefully, "that some of you – perhaps most of you – are anxious that the present veil of secrecy be withdrawn; you would not be scientists if you thought otherwise." He caught a glimpse of Dr. Michaels, whose face was creased in a slight frown which brought out a long scar down his right cheek – presumably the aftermath of some accident in space. The geologist, he was well aware, had been protesting vigorously against what he called this "cops and robbers nonsense."

"But I would remind you," Floyd continued, "that this is a quite extraordinary situation. We must be absolutely sure of our own facts; if we make errors now, there may be no second chance – so please be patient a little longer. Those are also the wishes of the President.

"That's all I have to say. Now I'm ready for your report."

He walked back to his seat; the Administrator said, 'Thank you very much, Dr. Floyd," and nodded, rather brusquely, to his Chief Scientist. On cue, Dr. Michaels walked up to the rostrum, and-the lights faded out.

A photograph of the Moon flashed onto the screen. At the very center of the disk was a brilliant white crater ring, from which a striking pattern of rays fanned out. It looked exactly as if someone had hurled a bag of flour at the face of the Moon, and it had spattered out in all directions.

"This is Tycho," said Michaels, pointing to the central crater. "On this vertical photograph Tycho is even more conspicuous than when seen from Earth; then it's rather near the edge of the Moon. But observed from this viewpoint – looking straight down from a thousand miles up – you'll see how it dominates an entire hemisphere."