Velez went white. "But the effort in building this; the time of the thousands of scientists and billions of dollars; what becomes of them?"
"They apparently consider the Platform a sitting duck, and are kind enough to take a chance on evacuating us."
Howard, a grey, unemotional power plant expert, a grim man whom Walter Stanton barely liked, sat back and folded his hands. He spoke with dogged emphasis.
"This project has taken the best of science for the last four years. It has held up research in other fields, and justifiably so. I do not propose to let four years of mankind's progress go spinning off into space alone, war or no war, Russians or no Russians. I shall not leave it. I'm a civilian, and I refuse to go. Is that clear?"
Walter Stanton stifled a wild impulse to laugh at the thought of Howard spinning alone and infinitely through space. Suddenly he liked the man.
"Any other comments?"
Velez bristled like a bantam rooster. "I shall stay with Senor Howard."
Walter Stanton set his jaw. "If I give the word, we'll evacuate, all of us. If I give the word." He glanced down the row of faces. "I'm toying with the idea of allowing volunteers to stay."
There was a chorus of assent. With a chill, Walter Stanton remembered Petrovski. He glanced at him and the big Russian, blond and bespectacled, arose ponderously and leaned on the table.
"Gentlemen.... Could I speak?"