The captain nodded. "And our third scheme ... to watch and wait, using long-range equipment, and play for the breaks. That sure seemed like a flexible plan. But of course it was blown all over the Milky Way along with our food. Anyway, the news from Patrol makes speed essential." There was glum silence for a while. Then Rogers offered, "There must be some way we can use our knowledge of where at least three of them are hiding--even if the place is defended with a natural barricade and a souped-up pack howitzer." After a thoughtful moment, the little language expert cleared his throat hesitantly. "Er--I should like to suggest something...." They all looked at him, making him feel rather self-conscious, but he went on. "You said something about an old-fashioned billboard, Gordon, that got me thinking. I have a good many pictures of the expedition and our activities--" he reddened, remembering the frequent ribbings about his photographic activity "--and I can make a few sketches for the rest of it. You see, I was thinking we could sneak down there at night and leave a series of pictures where the natives would find them in the morning." He was talking rapidly now, full of steam, pacing back and forth. "The pictures would show that we are _not_ the Invaders, that we are friendly--I took pictures of Rogers helping the monkey-rats, for instance--and then we could have a couple of pictures of Terrestrials and Azurans exchanging gifts." He stopped, embarrassed, wondering whether his scheme sounded naive to these practical men. "It--it's been tried before with considerable success ... in some cases." Gordon thought it over a while, rubbing the stubble on his cheeks. "Might work," he mused aloud. "What about setting up an automatic-sequence gimmick of some kind, controlled from here while we watch their reaction with a telescope? We could turn the pages, see? ... or should we just tack up a string of pictures along the path?" Rogers sat forward. "Machine might be better, if we can rig it up soon enough. Separate pictures might get blown away or something, for all we know, or some kind of critter might destroy 'em." * * * * * Stuart stopped pacing and squinted at the ceiling. "Yes, I like the machine. We could include a little pickup unit so I could record and analyze their comments, knowing just what they were looking at. That would really help a lot." He snapped his fingers, struck with inspiration. "What about ending the little show with a real surprise? A gift that would really demonstrate our good intentions?" What did he consider a suitable gift? "A blast-rifle!" he answered boldly. "What the devil!" exclaimed Gordon. The others indicated various degrees of consternation. They stared at Stuart as if he had suggested turning pirate. But he showed a firmness that was new to them--and to himself.