The same as we did, of course. We laughed. The Old Man and I, we burst out in a guffaw and rocked till we almost split our surcingles. And Slops laughed, too, in that piping little squeal of his, though even through his laughter he was gasping spasmodically, "I--I tried to warn you, sir. I'm _so_ sorry! But you see it's only a garbage incinerator." But he who laughs last, laughs last. And if our foe had been despicable before, he was a raging fury now. He did not even stop to scrape the last clinging turnip-top from his jacket. He spun to his subordinates and screamed, "Come! We are finished here! Back to our ship! I'll show these Earthmen one does not insult a Jovian commander with impunity!" And his face a thundercloud of wrath, he dashed from the galley. We heard him calling his men, heard them exiting through the airlock, and then--silence again. * * * * * It was then, his paroxysms of mirth stifled by sober recollection, that the Old Man turned and said, "Well, it was fun while it lasted. But it's all over now, Dugan. Call the men together. This is the last act, and we might as well all face it together." But before I could leave the room, Slops clutched my arm with fingers tense and hot as live wires. "No, Joey! Don't go! I need your help. And yours, Skipper! Hurry! We haven't a minute to lose!" I stared at the Old Man and he at me. "H-huh?" said the two of us. "Help? Help for what?" "Oh, don't _talk_ so much!" bleated Andy. "_Work!_ Get this garbage out of here--like this!" And recklessly he plunged both arms into the channel of the incinerator, recklessly hurled it about the previously immaculate floor of the galley. As he worked, he panted: "An incinerator, yes ... but ... it was a good cannon ... in its ... day. It will still work. I cleaned ... and oiled it ... and connected it to the charger. _It still shoots!_" _Shoots!_ That was all we had to hear. We fell all over ourselves trying to get an armload of that goo. I never thought I'd live to see the day I'd go fond and blissful over a gallon of boiled noodles, but that's just what happened. I dug in, and so did the skipper. In less time than I've taken to tell it, we had that incinerator-cannon empty, swabbed out and ready for use as a cannon-incinerator. Then the captain clapped a hand to his forehead. "Omigawd--I clean forgot! The firing-plate! There ain't no vision-field for this gun!" "Oh, yes there is!" cried Captain Slops. "Over your head, there--the galley-vent. I--I removed the atmosphere-duct and installed a vision-field. Use the crossed wires for a target centering device." I flung open the vent. As he had said, the vent had been converted into a perfect firing-plate. There before me, a fat and gladsome target, was the largest of the enemy ships which had captured us, the flagship of Ras Thuul's fleet. As I watched, I saw the commander and his boarding party re-enter their own craft.