The Base Commander, as soon as it was safe to do so, rushed out of his guarded room to investigate. Amazed, disgruntled, dismayed by the to him completely inexplicable phenomenon he had just witnessed, he fell an easy prey to the Palainian Lensman. Nadreck invaded his mind and explored it, channel by channel; finding--not entirely unexpectedly--that this Number One knew nothing whatever of interest. Nadreck did not destroy the base. Instead, after setting up a small instrument in the Commander's office, he took that unfortunate wight aboard his speedster and drove off into space. He immobilized his captive, not by loading him with manacles, but by deftly severing a few essential nerve trunks. Then he really studied the Onlonian's mind--line by line, this time; almost cell by cell. A master--almost certainly Kandron himself--had operated here. There was not the slightest trace of tampering; no leads to or indications of what the activating stimulus would have to be; all that the fellow now knew was that it was his job to hold his Base inviolate against any and every form of intrusion and to keep that speedster flitting around all over space on a director-by-chance as much as possible of the time, leaking slightly a certain signal now and then. Even under this microscopic re-examination, he knew nothing whatever of Kandron; nothing of Onlo or of Thrale; nothing of any Boskonian organization, activity, or thing; and Nadreck, although baffled still, remained undisturbed. This trap, he thought, could almost certainly be used against the trapper. Until a certain call came through his relay in the Base, he would investigate the planets of this system. * * * * * During the investigation a thought impinged upon his Lens from Karen Kinnison, one of the very few warm-blooded beings for whom he had any real liking or respect. "Busy, Nadreck?" she asked, as casually as though she had seen him hours, instead of weeks before. "In large, yes--in detail and at the moment, no. Is there any small problem in which I can be of assistance?" "Not small--big. I just got the funniest distress call I ever heard or heard of. On a high band--'way, 'way up--there. Do you know of any race that thinks on that band?" "I do not believe so." He thought for a moment. "Definitely, no." "Neither do I. It wasn't broadcast, either, but was directed at any member of a special race or tribe--very special. Classification, straight Z's to ten or twelve places, she ... or it ... seemed to be trying to specify." "A frigid race of extreme type, adapted to an environment having a temperature of only a few degrees absolute."