with!" Brent said warmly. "She thought of things that would never have
occurred to me! As a psychologist, I could see how good her ideas were
when she brought them up, but as a male I'd never have dreamed of them."
Then he grinned. "She fell down on just one point. So did everybody
else. Nobody happened to think of a garbage-disposal system for the
Platform."

It came into Joe's mind that garbage-disposal was hardly a subject one
would expect to be discussing in interplanetary space. But the Platform
wasn't the same thing as a spaceship. A ship could jettison refuse and
leave it behind, or store it during a voyage and dump it at either end.
But the Space Platform would never land. It could roll on forever. And
if it heaved out its refuse from airlocks--why--the stuff would still
have the Platform's orbital speed and would follow it tirelessly around
the Earth until the end of time.

"We dry and store it now," said Brent. "If we were going to live, we'd
figure out some way to turn it to fertilizer for the hydroponic gardens.
It's hardly worth while as things are. Even then, though, the problem of
tin cans could be hopeless."

The Chief wiped his mouth deliberately. He had helped load four
guided-missile launching tubes, and he had been brought up to date on
the state of things in the Platform. He growled in a preliminary fashion
and said, "Joe."

Joe looked at him.

"We brought up six two-ton guided missiles," said the Chief dourly.
"We'll have warning of other bombs coming up. We can send these missiles