"The way I've got it figured out," he confided to Sally and Marlin, as they sat listlessly on the platform under the periscope, "in order to make good in her boy's disguise and to offset her underlying feminine appearance, she had to act tougher than any of the roughnecks she was thrown with. So, by degrees, she was drawn into the career of an outlaw. "You'd almost think," he added reflectively, "that Earth spewed out this gang because we're a bunch of what the sociologists call unassimilable elements." "What do you mean by that?" snapped Sally. "With all respect to those present, I suppose we could be spared about as well as any you could mention. Nobody here seems to have any home ties. There's no one back on Earth whose life will be affected by our departure. We haven't contributed anything constructive to society--in fact, on the average, we've been just general nuisances." Marlin looked at him curiously. "You're implying--" "I'm not implying a thing," DuChane evaded. He twisted around and picked up a jagged disc of metal. "We've got more serious problems to face. Recognize this?" "It's the piece Slinky cut out of the opening with the blowtorch." "Ever look at it?" Marlin studied the other's face under the swinging shadows. Then he took the metal disc and peered at it closely. Sally glanced from one serious face to the other. "Well," she demanded, "what's it all about?" Without a word, Marlin passed her the fragment. "Link said the blowtorch cut through it like butter," DuChane remarked grimly. "We've noticed how the clay covering digests waste material--tin cans included." Sally turned the piece over curiously, ran her fingers over the serrated surface, held it up to the light. "So that's all there is between us and--" She hesitated. "Why it's half eaten through in places--like something rusted. Is it my imagination, or can you see through it?" "Imagination," assured Marlin. He took the fragment and held it before his eyes. "No, by thunder! A couple of pinpoint holes have been eaten clear through it." After a moment, Sally slowly rose. "No use saying anything to the others," Marlin suggested, noting the listless drag of her bare feet as she started toward the ladder. She glanced over her shoulder disdainfully. "What do you take me for?" But the secret was not long in becoming general property. Len McGruder, who seemed to prefer devious and furtive ways of accomplishing even obvious things, must have been listening from one of many possible hiding places, or at least observing from a distance, for he produced the steel fragment at the next mealtime gathering. "What's this about the old ball goin' to pieces?" he demanded. "What're you tryin' to put over?"