"I'll take your word for it," the old Lensman murmured absently. "But any Galaxy probably has at least a couple of solar systems all the time--but I see your point. The probability is overwhelmingly great that Boskone would be in a Galaxy having hundreds of millions of planets rather than in one having only a dozen or less inhabitable worlds. But at that, they _could_ all have lots of planets. Suppose that our wilder thinkers are right, that Galaxies are grouped into Universes, which are spaced, roughly, about the same as the Galaxies are. Two of _them_ could collide, couldn't they?" "They could, but you're getting 'way out of my range now. At this point the detective withdraws, leaving a clear field for you and the science-fiction imaginationeer." "Well, finish the thought--that I'm wackier even than he is!" Both men laughed, and the Port Admiral went on: "It's a fascinating speculation--it does no harm to let the fancy roam at times--but at that, there are things of much greater importance. You think, then, that the thionite ring enters into this matrix?" "Bound to. Everything ties in. The most intelligent races of this Galaxy are oxygen-breathers, with warm, red blood: the only kind of physique which thionite affects. The more of us who get the thionite habit, the better for Boskone. It explains why we have never got to the first check station in getting any of the real higher-ups in the thionite game; instead of being an ordinary criminal ring they've got all the brains and all the resources of Boskonia back of them. But if they are that big--and as good as we know they are--I wonder why--" Kinnison's voice trailed off into silence; his brain raced. * * * * * "I want to ask you a question that is none of my business," the young Lensman went on almost immediately, in a voice strangely altered. "Just how long ago was it that you started losing fifth-year men just before graduation? I mean, that boys sent to Arisia to be measured for their Lenses supposedly never got there? Or at least, they never came back and no Lenses were ever received for them?" "About ten years. Twelve, I think, to be ex--" Haynes broke off in the middle of the word and his eyes bored into those of the younger man. "What makes you think that there were any such?" "Deduction again, but this time I know that I'm right. At least one every year. Usually two or three." "Right, but there have always been space accidents ... or they were caught by the pirates ... you think, then, that--" "I don't think. I _know_!" Kinnison declared. "They got to Arisia, _and they died there_. All I can say is, thank God for the Arisians! We can still trust our Lenses; they are seeing to that." "But why didn't they tell us?" Haynes asked, perplexed.