"Now one thing more. The moon, or moonlet, as you say, passes along a definite line over certain areas of the Earth. If we were able to slow it down when and where we wanted, the moon could be made to fall at a predetermined point along that line. That is obvious.
"You have already computed that path, along with all the necessary data. We, my friend, have picked the target. Your further work, therefore, is this: you will determine the point and the time at which the moonlet must be slowed in order to fall upon the target. It is a simple question of trajectory. And that is your mission, your trust."
Diavilev could not speak. This man was clearly mad.
Krylov was laughing again, his teeth bared into Diavilev's eyes.
"Can you conceive it, comrade? Can you imagine it? The hand of God! They will call it the hand of God!"
He leaned back and roared almost upsetting himself in the weightless air. The other crewmen heard him laugh and turned to look. They were all grinning.
Diavilev felt his clothes becoming sodden. Krylov was serious. More than that, they were all serious. The Leader himself must know of all this and must have approved, or Diavilev would not be here.
But they cannot have fallen this far, Diavilev told himself, not in so little a time.
But they would do it. Observing Krylov, Diavilev understood at last that they would, and a great wave of despair cut through him.
"How will you slow it down?"