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along his tank, tucked his chin behind the cross-bar, and twisted both throttles out against their stops.
They were in a hurry. They had a long way to go; and if they did not get there in time to stop those
trans-polar atomic missiles, all hell would be out for noon.
Why was all this necessary? This organization, this haste, this split-second timing, this city-wide
exhibition of insane hippodrome riding? Why were not all these motorcycle-racers stationed permanently
at their posts, so as to be ready for any emergency? Because America, being a democracy, could not
strike first, but had to wait wait in instant readiness - until she was actually attacked. Because every good
Techno in America had his assigned place in some American Defense Plan; of which Operation Bullfinch
was only one. Because without the presence of those Technos at their everyday jobs, all ordinary
technological work in America would perforce have stopped.
A branch road curved away to the right. Scarcely slowing down, Kinnison bulleted into the turn and
through an open, heavily-guarded gate. Here his mount and his lights were passwords enough: the real
test would come later. He approached a towering structure of alloy - jammed on his brakes - stopped
beside a soldier who, as soon as Kinnison jumped off, mounted the motorcycle and drove it away.
Kinnison dashed up to an apparently blank wall, turned his back upon four commissioned officers
holding cocked forty-fives at the ready, and fitted his right eye into a cup. Unlike fingerprints, retinal
patterns cannot be imitated, duplicated, or altered; any imposter would have died instantly, without arrest
or question. For every man who belonged aboard that rocket had beem checked and tested - how he
had been checked and tested! - since one spy, in any one of those Technos chairs, could wreak damage
untellable.
The port snapped open. Madison climbed a ladder into the large, but crowded.
Operations Room.
Hi, Teddy! a yell arose.
Hi, Walt! Hi-ya, Red! What-ho, Baldy! and so on. These men were friends of old.
Where are they? he demanded. Is our stuff getting away? Lemme take a peek at the Ball!
I ll say it is! O.K., Ted, squeeze in here!
He squeezed in. It was not a ball, but a hemisphere slightly oblate and centered approximately by the
North Pole. A mandate of red dots moved slowly - a hundred miles upon that map was a small distance
- northward over Canada; a closer-packed, less numerous group of yellowish-greens, already on the
American side of the Pole, was coming south.
As had been expected, the Americans had more missiles than did the enemy. the other belief, that
America had more adequate defenses and better-trained, more highly skilled defenders, would soon be
put to test.
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A string of blue lights blazed across the continent, from Nome through Skagway and Wallaston and
Churchill and Kaniapiskau to Belle Isle; America s First Line of Defense. Regulars all. Ambers almost
blanketed those blues; their combat rockets were already grabbing altitude. The Second Line, from
Portland, Seattle, and Vancouver across to Halifax, also showed solid green - with some flashes of
amber. Part Regulars; part National Guard.
Chicago was in the Third Line, all National Guard, extending from San Francisco to New York.
Green-alert and operating. So were the Fourth, the Fifth, and the Sixth.
Operation Bullfinch was clicking; on schedule to the second.
A bell clanged; the men sprang to their stations and strapped down. Every chair was occupied. Combat
Rocket Number One Oh Six Eight Five, full-powered by the disintegrating nuclei of unstable isotopes,
took off with a whooshing roar which even her thick walls could not mute.
The Technos, crushed down into their form-fitting cushions by three G s of acceleration, clenched their
teeth and took it.
Higher! Faster! The rocket shivered and trembled as it hit the wall at the velocity of sound, but it did not
pause.
Higher! Faster! Higher! Fifty miles high. One hundred . . .five hundred . . . a thousand . . . fifteen
hundred . . . two thousand! Half a radius - the designated altitude at which the Chicago Contingent would
go into action.
Acceleration was cut to zero. The Technos, breathing deeply in relief, donned peculiarly-goggled
helmets and set up their panels.
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