"No, I can't dodge the lionizing, either," Kinnison grinned, "but we won't be in a sealed and shielded room. So, son ... I'm proud of you." "Right back at you, big fellow--and thanks a million." Kit strode out and, a few minutes later, the Co-ordinator did likewise. * * * * * The "brawl," which was the gala event of the Tellurian social year, was duly enjoyed by all the Kinnisons. The _Dauntless_ made an uneventful flight to Klovia. Arrangements were made. Plans, necessarily sketchy and elastic, were laid. Two big, gray-clad Lensmen stood upon the deserted spacefield, between two blackly indetectable speedsters. Kinnison was massive, sure, calm with the poised calmness of maturity, experience, and power. Kit, with the broad shoulders and narrow waist of his years and training, was taut and tense, fiery, eager to come to grips with Civilization's foes. "Remember, son," Kinnison said as the two gripped hands. "There are four of us old-timers, who have been through the mill, on call every second. If you can use any one of us or all of us, don't wait to be too sure--snap out a call." "I know, Dad ... thanks. The four best, ablest Lensmen that ever lived. One of you may make a strike before I do. In fact, with the thousands of leads we have, and with no way of telling how many of them are false--deliberately or otherwise--and with your vastly greater experience and knowledge, you probably will. So remember that it cuts both ways. If any of you can use me at any time, I'll come at max." "QX. We'll get in touch from time to time, anyway. Clear ether, Kit!" "Clear ether, Dad!" What a wealth of meaning there was in that low-voiced, simple exchange of the standard bon voyage! For minutes, as his speedster flashed through space, Kinnison thought only of the boy. He knew exactly how he felt; he relived in memory the supremely ecstatic moments of his own first launching into space as a Gray Lensman. But Kit had the stuff--stuff which he, Kinnison, knew that he could know nothing about--and he had his own job to do. Therefore, methodically, like the old campaigner he was, he set about it. II. Worsel the Velantian, hard and durable and long-lived as Velantians are, had in twenty Tellurian years changed scarcely at all. As the first Lensman and the only Second-Stage Lensman of his race, the twenty years had been very fully occupied indeed. He had solved the varied technological and administrative problems incident to the welding of Velantia into the structure of Civilization. He had worked at the many tasks which, in the opinion of the Galactic Council, fitted his peculiarly individual talents. In his "spare" time he had sought out in various parts of two galaxies, and had ruthlessly slain, widely-scattered groups of the Overlords of Delgon.