He didn't return until after the _Newsbeam_ had been put to bed. There was a black figure sitting at his desk. "Click-Click!" "Absolutely." The Martian waved his pinchers airily--a startlingly human gesture. "You probably guessed what happened, but I thought maybe you'd want a personal report. The Martians at Ten Mile struck--every last one of them. Almost unprecedented, but not quite." And with those government contracts hanging over his head, Kemmerdygn couldn't afford to lose half a day, Scat appended mentally. "I won't say that I didn't have anything to do with it," Click-Click continued. "I kept the old grapevine humming. But most of the credit goes to the Martian Tape. The Martians were wild when it wasn't published today--especially because it carried the answers to yesterday's puzzles. Even Kemmerdygn couldn't figure out that one. They're going back to work now, but I imagine they'll be a long time forgetting this initial lesson in self-assertion." Scat looked down at Click-Click. He grabbed his pincher and squeezed it--hard. Click-Click squeezed back--harder. But since it was Scat's duraplast hand, it didn't matter. THE END