So long as people knew. Where and how. Vague, vague, mass-volumized concept. Granite tomb was one idea, here was a _place_. Point a spread-fingered hand in a waving sweep across the sky that encompasses the Plane of The Ecliptic and say, “It is there,” and another _place_ is identified. Lost on Venus is no more than a phrase; from Terra Haute or Times Square, Venus is a tiny point in the sky smaller to the vision than the granite of Grant’s Tomb. Imagination breeds irritation. Would they call it pilot error or equipment unreliability? Dying he could face. Goofing would be a disgrace that he would have to meet in fact or in symbol. Hardware crackup was a matter of the laws of probability. Not only his duty demanded that he report, his essence cried out for a voice to _let them know_. Anybody. Just the chance to tell one other human soul. Chelan asked, “Who are you? Your name and rank?” He said sullenly, “Go to hell.” “We have ways and means.” He said, “Use ’em.” “If we said that we mean no harm; if we asked what we could do to prove it, what would be your reply?” “Take me back and let me go.” “Who are you? Will you identify yourself?” “No.” “Stubborn Terran!” “I know my rights. We are not at war. I’ll tell you nothing. Why did you capture me?” “We’ll ask the questions, Terran.” “You’ll get no answers.” He sneered at them angrily. “Torture me—and then wonder whether my screamings tell the truth. Dope me and wonder whether what I truly believe is fact or fantasy.” “Please,” said Chelan, “we only want to understand your kind. To know what makes you tick.” “Then why didn’t you ask?” “We’ve tried and we get no answers. Terran, the Universe is a vastness beyond comprehension. Co-operate and give us what we want to know and a piece of it is yours.” “Nuts!” “Terran, you have friends.” “Who doesn’t?” “Why can’t we be your friends?” Angrily, resentfully, “Your way isn’t friendly enough to convince me.” Chelan shook his head. “Take him away,” he directed in his own tongue. “Where? And how shall we keep him?” “To the place we’ve prepared. And keep him safe.” Huvane asked, “Safe? Who knows what is safe? One bribed his guards. One seduced her guards. One dug his way out scratch by scratch. Disappeared, died, dead, gone, mingled off with the myriad of worlds—did one get home, perhaps, to start their legend of the gods in the sky; the legend that never dies through the rise and fall of culture from savagery to ... to ... to Element 109?” Chelan looked at Jerry Markham, the Terran looked back defiantly as if he were guest instead of captive. “Co-operate,” breathed Chelan. “I’ll tell you nothing. Force me. I can’t stop that.”