became one of blazing hatred.

Joe's mind went rather absurdly to the major's curious, almost
despairing talk in his quarters that morning, when he'd spoken of a
conspiracy to destroy all the hopes of men. The firing of rockets at
the Platform was, of course, the work of men acting deliberately. But
they were--unconsciously--trying to destroy their own best hopes. For
freedom, certainly, whether or not they could imagine being free. But
the Platform and the space exploration project in general meant benefits
past computing for everybody, in time. To send ships into space for
necessary but dangerous experiments with atomic energy was a purpose
every man should want to help forward. To bring peace on Earth was
surely an objective no man could willingly or sanely combat. And the
ultimate goal of space travel was millions of other planets, circling
other suns, thrown open to colonization by humanity. That prospect
should surely fire every human being with enthusiasm. But something--and
the more one thought about it the more specific and deliberate it seemed
to be--made it necessary to fight desperately against men in order to
benefit them.

Joe swallowed again. It would have been comforting to be dramatic in
this war against stupidity and malice and blindness. Especially since
this particular battle seemed to be lost. One could send back an
eloquent, defiant message to Earth saying that the four of them did not
regret their journey into space, though they were doomed to be killed by
the enemies of their country. It could have been a very pretty gesture.
But Joe happened to have a job to do. Pretty gestures were not a part of
it. He had no idea how to do it. So he said rather sickishly:

"The Platform told me we could fire our landing-rockets as additional