"It is a thing proven by the outcome." The Boskonian's statement was a calm summation of fact. "The messenger sent against you succeeded; the one sent against us failed. The Patrol intends and is preparing: certainly to wipe out our remaining forces within the Tellurian Galaxy; probably to attack your stronghold; eventually to invade our own galaxy. It is well--for that reason, in part, was the Lensman Morgan sent back as he was sent." "Let them come!" snarled the Kalonian. "We can and we will hold this planet forever against anything they can bring through space!" "I would not be too sure of that," cautioned the superior. "In fact, if--as I am beginning to regard as a probability--the Patrol does make a concerted drive against any significant number of our planetary organizations, you should abandon your base there and return to Kalonia, after disbanding and so preserving for future use as many as possible of the planetary units." "Future use? In that case there will be no future." "There will be," Eichmil replied, coldly vicious. "We are strengthening the defenses of Jarnevon to withstand any conceivable assault. If they do not attack us here of their own free will, we shall compel them to do so. Then, after destroying their every mobile force, we shall again take over their galaxy. Arms for that purpose are even now in the building. Is the matter entirely clear?" "It is clear. We shall warn all our groups that such orders may issue; and we shall prepare to abandon this base if such a step should become desirable." So it was planned: neither Eichmil nor Jalte even suspecting two startling truths: First, that when the Patrol was ready it would strike hard and without warning, and, Second, that it would strike--not low, but high! XXIII. Kinnison played, worked, rested, ate, and slept. He boxed, strenuously and viciously, with masters of the craft. He practiced with his DeLameters until he had regained his old-time speed and dead-center accuracy. He swam for hours at a time, he ran in cross-country races. He lolled, practically naked, in hot sunshine. And finally, when his muscles were writhing and rippling as of yore beneath the bronzed satin of his skin, Lacy answered his insistent demands by coming to see him. The Gray Lensman met the flier eagerly, but his face fell when he saw that the surgeon general was alone. "No, MacDougall didn't come--she isn't around any more," he explained guilefully. "Huh?" came the startled query. "How come?" "Out in space--out Borova way somewhere. What do you care? After the way you acted you've got the crust of a rhinoceros to think that--" "You're crazy, Lacy! Why, we ... she--It's all fixed up."