"O.K.," answered Benj. "Identium is a synthetic element. It is composed of a strictly unstable atom that is stabilized electronically. It starts off all right, but at the first touch of the scanning beam in the matter-converter, it becomes unstable and blows in a fission-reaction. Limpy, there, tried it once and it took his arm and leg. The trouble with identium explosions is the fact that the torn flesh is sort of seared and limb-grafting isn't perfect. That's why Limpy is Limpy. Then, to make identium, you require a space station in the outer region. The manufacture of the stuff puts a hellish positive charge on the station which is equalized by solar radiation in time. But the station must be far enough out so that the surge inward from Sol isn't so high that the inhabitants are electrocuted by the change in charge. "Any detector worthy of the name will pick it up when in operation at a half light-year--and the Patrol keeps their detectors running. That plus the almost-impossible job of getting the equipment to perform the operation. I'll have no identium experiments here." A tiny light winked briefly above his head. It came from a dusty piece of equipment on a shelf. Benj blinked, looked up at the winking light, and swore. "Tom!" he snorted. "What in the name of the devil are you doing?" The technician put his head out of the laboratory door. "Nothing." "You're making this detector blink." "I'm trying to duplicate an experiment." "Trying?" Tom grinned. "I'm performing the actual operation of the distillation of alcohol." "That shouldn't make the detector blink." "There's only one thing that will do that!" "Not after all this time." "It's not been long. About ten years," objected Tom. "Look, Benj. Someone has found the Key. And not only that, but they've made it work." "I'd like to argue the point with you," said Benj pointedly. "Why couldn't you make it tick when we had it seven years ago? You were sharp enough to make a detector, later." "Detecting is a lot different than generating, Benj. Come on, let's get going. I want to see the dupe that's got the Key." * * * * * Had Cal Blair been really satisfied to make his gadget work, he might never have been bothered. But he tinkered with it, measured it, and toyed with it. He called Tinker Elliott to boast and found that she had gone off to Northern Landing with her illustrious brother to speak at a medical convention, and so he returned to his toy. Effectively, his toying with the Key gave enough radiation to follow. And it was followed by two parties. The first one arrived about midnight. The doorbell rang, and Cal opened it to look into the glittering lens of a needle beam. He went white and retreated backwards until he felt a chair behind his knees. He collapsed into the chair. "P-p-p-put that thing away!" "This?" grinned the man, waving the needle beam. "Shut up, Logy," snapped the other. To Cal, he said: "Where is it?"