Then the news came. There had been an emergency call from Pallastown. Rescue units were to be organized, and rocketed out in high-velocity U.N.S.F. and U.S.S.F bubbs. There had been sabotage, violence. The Town was three-quarters gone, above the surface. Planned attack or—almost worse—merely the senseless result of space-poisoned men kicking off the lid in a spree of hell-raising humor and fun?
Nelsen was bitter. But he also felt the primitive excitement—almost an eagerness. That was the savage paradox in life.
"You still have the dregs of Syrtis Fever," a recruiting physician told him. "But you know the Belt. That makes a big difference... All right—you're going..."
Nance Codiss didn't have that experience. Her lab background wasn't enough. So she was stuck, on Mars.
Nelsen had been pestering her to marry him. Now, in a corner of the crowded lounge, he tried again.
She shook her head. "You'd still have to leave me, Frank," she told him. "Because that's the way strong people have to [p. 135] be—when there's trouble to be met. Let's wait. Let's know a little better where we're at—please, darling. I'll be all right. Contact me when you can..."
Her tone was low and tender and unsteady. He hugged her close.
Soon, he was aboard a GO-rocket, shooting up to Phobos to join the assembling rescue team. He wondered if this was the beginning of the end...
VIII
Frank Nelsen missed the first shambles at Pallastown, of course, since even at high speed, the rescue unit with which he came did not arrive until days after the catastrophe.