O'Dea unwrapped himself from a chenille curtain. He rubbed his head and stared at the prostrate Centaur. "What a skinful! He looks almost as bad as you, Paul! Must be something he ate. Let's dump him through the lock and hurry back to Earth." "Get into a space suit and stow the fuel away," growled Hawthorne. "I'll chain this critter up and we'll take him home with us. But first, we'll leave a souvenir to those Centaurs on Avignon!" The fuel stowed in the tanks, O'Dea climbed back into the ship and pulled at his space suit fastenings. He looked happily at the well-manacled Centaur, still in a drunken stupor. "The air is better now," he observed. "Let's get on our way back to Earth and--hey! What're you up to?" Hawthorne was ripping the flowery seat covers and soft curtains from their fastenings, piling them near the airlock. When they were all gathered, he shoved them out and watched happily through the vision plate as they floated away from the ship. O'Dea grinned. "You're cooking with _quintol_, at that. The boys would never let us forget it if we came home furnished like that!" Hawthorne grunted and pulled at Morguma's manacles. He went back to the telescope, studied space ahead for a while. Then he nodded, satisfied. "That one should do," he mused. "Should do what?" O'Dea wondered. "That big rock ahead should be a good farewell gift to the Centaurs. We'll fly over their camp, and--" A knowing smile was on Hawthorne's lips as he nosed up on a tiny asteroid. When they came close enough, the asteroid proved to be bigger than the ship. Gradually, they trapped it in the seizure beams. Hawthorne fought grimly against inertia. The asteroid began to pull ahead of its orbit, and finally it was under full control of their engines. * * * * * Space was clear all the way back to Avignon. No Centaur ships were off the ground--there was nothing to challenge them. Hawthorne blasted straight for the valley of Centaur ships. The motors strained, overheated, with the huge asteroid they lugged. When they entered the atmosphere, the vessel dropped almost like a dead weight. O'Dea looked worried. "That big factory, Paul. That's the best objective, and you're way off from it. Bear right--" "Small game!" Hawthorne leered, a superior smile on his lips. "Just do what I said--keep your fingers one inch above the release key and push down fast when I give the word!" O'Dea stared into the valley below. They were falling fast and the huge chunk of rock almost cut off the vision. But they were moving forward as well as down, and the long lines of Centaur ships and factories were being left far behind. O'Dea shook his head, fingered with one hand some of his bruises. Then his eyes widened. Dead ahead and coming up fast to meet them, was a mountain. From a pit in its narrow tip rose a trickle of smoke. "Get ready!" Hawthorne shouted. O'Dea could almost see into the crater. He held his sweating palm ready. "Now!"