Both of these developments were starkly incredible, and Worsel's long body tightened convulsively, rock-hard, in the violence of the mental force now driving his exploring mind. Finding nothing, he finally relaxed. "Any Lensman, anywhere, can read and understand any thought, however garbled or scrambled, or however expressed," he thought at Constance. "Also, I have always been able to get an exact line on anything I could perceive, but all I know about this one is that it seemed to come mostly from somewhere over that way. Did you do any better?" "Not much, if any." If the thing was surprising to Worsel, it was sheerly astounding to his companion. She, knowing the measure of her power, thought to herself--not to the Velantian: "Girl, file _this_ one carefully away in the big black book!" Slight as were the directional leads, the _Velan_ tore along the indicated line at maximum blast. Day after day she sped, a wide-flung mental net out far ahead and out farther still on all sides. They did not find what they sought, but they did find--something. "What is it?" Worsel demanded of the quivering telepath who had made the report. "I don't know, sir. Not on that ultra-band, but well below it--there. Not an Overlord, certainly, but something perhaps equally unfriendly." "An Eich!" Both Worsel and Con exclaimed the thought, and the girl went on, "It was practically certain that we couldn't get them all on Jarnevon, of course, but none have been reported before. Where are they, anyway? Get me a chart, somebody. It's Novena, and they're on the ninth planet out--Novena IX. Tune up your heavy artillery, Worsel--it'd be nice if we could take the head man alive, but that much luck probably isn't in the cards." The Velantian, even though he had issued instantaneously the order to drive at full blast toward the indicated planet, was momentarily at a loss. Kinnison's daughter entertained no doubts as to the outcome of the encounter she was proposing--but she had never seen an Eich close up. He had. So had her father. Kinnison had come out a very poor second in that affair, and Worsel knew that he could have done no better, if as well. However, that had been upon Jarnevon, actually inside one of its strongest citadels, and neither he nor Kinnison had been prepared. "What's the plan, Worsel?" Con demanded, vibrantly. "How're you figuring on taking 'em?" "Depends on how strong they are. If it's a long-established base, we'll simply have to report it to LaForge and go on about our business. If, as seems more probable from the fact that it hasn't been reported before, it is a new establishment of refugees from Jarnevon--or possibly only a grounded spaceship so far--we'll go to work on them ourselves. We'll soon be close enough to find out."