"I remember," he said in a low voice. His heart was still racing from the reaction of his near brush with death. "There's a pattern here. If I could only get a chance to talk over things sensibly with this Third Sarge...." There was great excitement among the soldiery. Several of the men were crowded around the corpse of the marksman. Elfor stood nervously, his hand on his own holstered gun. "They're concealing weapons," he barked to his aides. "Search them!" A squad of guards swarmed over the four prisoners. There was an excited twitter when they discovered the pocket transmitters. They removed the little packets, snapping the aerial wires, and carried them to Elfor. He glanced at them, took one in his hand, and ordered: "Execute them!" Another guard with a heat-gun took his position in the center of the courtyard. He handled the weapon somewhat gingerly, but checked its mechanism and prepared to follow orders. He waited for the command from Elfor. But the Third Sarge now was staring hard at the little transmitter in his hand. Instead of ordering the guard to fire, he strode across the courtyard and thrust the tiny radio before John's face. "Is this true?" he demanded. He pointed at the well-known symbol stamped on the packet, the red diagram of an atom that warned against opening the lead-shielded mechanism without precaution. "You mean, is it atomic-powered?" asked John. "Yes it is." "It is a weapon?" "No, it's a radio transmitter." "But it operates?" "Certainly it operates. Why in thunder do you think I'd be carrying a useless transmitter?" "It has been many years since this sign was seen on a working mechanism on Earth," said Elfor soberly. "You are familiar, then, with atomic power?" "I'm not an atomic technician," answered John carefully, "but there are several on the Discovery who can build anything from one of these little transmitters to the engines of a spaceship, with the proper equipment." The Third Sarge stood in silent thought for several minutes. He was high in the councils of his country, or he would not have been commander of the zone that guarded Numex spaceport. He knew the reason for the basic slogan "Conserve!" and he knew, as 99 per cent of his subordinates did not, what circumstances would make that slogan meaningless. "Guard!" he growled. "Unbind the deevs! John Gray, come with me in peace." "You'd better give me back that transmitter, first," suggested John drily. "I'd hate to escape execution just to get H-bombed by my own ship." * * * * * It was the next afternoon that the four were escorted by a trim-uniformed guard of honor across the flat spaceport to the Discovery.