3
rang out again, "General Call, Earani, director of the central geophysical station reports on behalf of the Council. Polar observation stations announce steady and progressive deflection from terrestrial stability. Last observation, 2.33 a.m., shows variation of 2,000 feet. Vast fissures are growing over both polar ice caps. Estimated duration of life on the planet, 43 days. First audible indications of disruption detected at general Station No. 7 at midnight last night. Council orders that until further instructions all work on the planet will go forward as usual. No exceptions will be granted."
"High Council Order No. 2. Volunteers are called to fill mortality wastage at polar stations at the probable rate of 100 per day. Volunteers will report at station No. 16 with full polar equipment. Order and report closes."
As the lights on the frame faded the woman pulled over another switch and spoke sharply--"Special call Station 11." As she spoke the screen glowed and on it appeared the figure of a young man.
"Name?" she demanded.
"Bardon," came the answer.
"Bardon the poet?"
"Yes."
"Explain 30 seconds' delay in answering a general call."
"I was writing a poem."
"You know the regulations, you are in charge of a station. You know the penalty?"
"Yes!"
"Report to your district executive committee at midday tomorrow. They will deal with you. I will send a relief."
She switched off the light as she spoke and the figure vanished.
From across the room came a cold ironical voice--"Flat dereliction of duty, Earani. You should have turned the ray on him."
Earant laughed lightly. "If anyone deserves the ray it is the man or woman who put a poet in charge of a general call station. Besides, since we will all be dead in 43 days I see no object in official executions."
"Still," Andax persisted, "the council's order said all work must go forward as usual."
There was a touch of hauteur in her voice as she replied. "I exerc