Silverberg rose from the chair and looked over at the two agents checking the limp form, and he shook his head sadly in bewilderment. “Why?” he asked softly, of no one in particular. “In God’s name, what would drive someone to this?’’

It took far less time to clean up the mess than to try to sort out what had happened and why. Teams of specialists interrogated the surviving staff workers, who were then hustled off to secure medical facilities, but on the work level there were no physically wounded people—all were either alive or dead. Admiral Jeeter had come down personally in a helicopter to discuss the final stages.

Silverberg had refused all attempts to get him to leave, although he patiently gave his account and his reactions to the clean-up team. With Moosic and Riggs, he went through the command center instrumentation checks and established what he could.

“There’s no question that the two of them went downtime,” he told the security men, “although they seem to have missed their target by a matter of ten days. Ten days early, I would think.”

Riggs nodded. “We were able to create a power drain, operating on the theory that it’s Marx they want to see.”

The physicist sat back and thought for a moment. “I see. So they are now faced with the choice of waiting ten days or returning here. They destroyed the spare suit here, so I assume that you intend to use the one coming back tomorrow morning to go and get them.”

“That is precisely the plan,” Jeeter replied. “How soon can the other suit be charged up enough for a try?”