The survivors were, however, disorganized. They had lost their morale when Ploor was wiped out in such a spectacularly nerve-shattering fashion. Also, they had lost practically all of their High Command; for the Ploorans, instead of riding the ether as did Patrol commanders, remained in their supposedly secure headquarters and directed matters from afar. Mentor and his fellows had removed from this plane of existence the Eddorians who had been present in the flesh on Ploor. The Arisians had cut all communications between Eddore and the remnants of the Boskonian defensive force. Grand Fleet, then, moved in for the kill; and for a time the action near Arisia was repeated. Following definite flight-and-course orders from the _Z9M9Z_, ten or more Patrol fleets would make short hops. At the end of those assigned courses they would discover that they had englobed a task force of the enemy. Bomb and beam! Over and over--flit, bomb, and beam! One Boskonian high officer, however, had both the time and the authority to act. A full thousand fleets massed together, their heaviest units outward, packed together screen to screen in a close-order globe of defense. "According to Haynes, that was good strategy in the old days," Kinnison commented, "but it's no good against loose planets and negaspheres." Six loose planets were so placed and so released that their inert masses would crash together at the center of the Boskonian globe; then, a few minutes later, ten negaspheres of high antimass were similarly launched. After those sixteen missiles had done their work and the resultant had attained an equilibrium of sorts, very little mopping-up was found necessary. The Boskonian observers were competent. The Boskonian commanders now knew that they had no chance whatever of success; that to stay was to be annihilated; that the only possibility of life lay in flight. Therefore each remaining Boskonian vice admiral, after perhaps a moment of consultation with a few others, ordered his fleet to drive at maximum blast for his home planet. "No use chasing them individually, is there, Kit?" Kinnison asked, when it became clear in the tank that the real battle was over; that all resistance had ended. "They can't do anything, and this kind of killing makes me sick at the stomach. Besides, I've got something else to do." "No. Me, too. So have I." Kit agreed with his father in full. As soon as the last Boskonian fleet was beyond detector range Grand Fleet broke up, its component fleets setting out for their respective worlds. "The Hell Hole is still there, Kit," the Gray Lensman said, soberly. "If Ploor was the top--I'm beginning to think there _is_ no top--it leads either to an automatic mechanism set up by the Ploorans or to Ploorans who are still alive somewhere. If Ploor was not the top, this seems to be the only lead we have toward that top. In either case I've got to take it. Check?"