the desert showed faint colorings. He tied his necktie. A deep-toned
keening set up off to the southward, over the sere and dreary landscape.
It was a faraway noise, something like the lament of a mountain-sized
calf bleating for its mother. Joe took a deep breath. He looked, but saw
nothing. The noise, though, told him that there'd been no cancellation
of orders so far. He mentally uncrossed one pair of fingers. He couldn't
possibly cross fingers against all foreseeable disasters. There weren't
enough fingers--or toes either. But it was good that so far the schedule
held.

He went downstairs. Major Holt was pacing up and down the living room of
his quarters. Electric lights burned, but already the windows were
brightening. Joe straightened up and tried to look casual. Strictly
speaking, Major Holt was a family friend who happened also to be
security officer here, in charge of protecting what went on in the giant
construction Shed. He'd had a sufficiently difficult time of it in the
past, and the difficulties might keep on in the future. He was also the
ranking officer here and consequently the immediate boss of Joe's
enterprise. Today's affair was still highly precarious. The whole thing
was controversial and uncertain and might spoil the career of somebody
with stars on his collar if it should fail. So nobody in the high brass
wanted the responsibility. If everything went well, somebody suitable
would take the credit and the bows. Meanwhile Major Holt was boss by
default.

He looked sharply at Joe. "Morning."

"Good morning, sir," said Joe. Major Holt's daughter Sally had a sort of
understanding with Joe, but the major hadn't the knack of cordiality,
and nobody felt too much at ease with him. Besides, Joe was wearing a