The _Asterite_ beat the _Orionad_ to Terra by a few hours, and in sufficient time for the report of Maynard's trip to be reviewed by the Bureau of Ordnance. When they came to the incident of the painting, they laughed first, and then called Malcolm Greggor to ascertain the moment of the _Orionad_'s landing. Armed with the information they went to the big landing area at Sahara Base, and waited for the big ship to touch. Greggor was there; he arrived almost as they did. "What's the meaning of this?" he stormed. Patrol Marshal Mantley grinned at the irate man and answered: "Your erstwhile employee has demonstrated his sub-screen to excellent effect, Greggor. He hung a gallon of red paint on the _Orionad_ without their notice." "This is preposterous!" exploded Greggor. "Not at all," said Mantley. "Sector Commander Maynard was merely bringing home the effectiveness of his own invention. If he can do that to the _Orionad_, no Martie can hope to best us. You must admit that he has something good." "That I admit. But to play such a prank--" "No prank, Greggor. This was a very convincing demonstration. How can you possibly classify such an epoch-making act as a prank? It is deplorable that your pride and joy should be thus decorated by a mere ... he was but Senior Executive Maynard at the time ... destroyer, a spacecraft one tenth the tonnage of the _Orionad_. But I insist that it does not detract from the pride of the _Orionad_ to have been bested by such a weapon." "I feel as though I've been made a fool of." "Ridiculous! It is not an admission of defeat to acknowledge a minor defeat at the hands of a man who is responsible for making Pluto inhabitable. After all, Greggor, Maynard is one in fifty billion." Greggor smiled wryly. "When you put it that way, I must admit," he said. "Any man who can bring the means of warming a planet to human climates certainly must be capable of decorating the _Orionad_. Maybe I should grow angry again; why should such a genius stoop to tamper with my ship?" "It was available and the best thing we have to boot." Maynard interrupted. "Surely you would not believe me capable of bringing ridicule upon you, Marshal Greggor. It was but a splendid opportunity to demonstrate what could have been done to an enemy with a torpedo. What if I had been a Martian?" "I agree," said Greggor. Then he laughed uproariously. "We'll pink Patrol Marshal Inkland with the idea," he said. "Tell him that his ship was destroyed in space by a real destroyer; that he must have been asleep. Roast him good, and see what happens. Here she comes--and Maynard, that splotch of red paint sticks out like a miniature sun. What a mal-beautiful job of decoration." The _Orionad_ landed, and Inkland came across the sand toward the little group as soon as he saw who it was. He shook hands all around and smiled until Greggor told him of the decoration. Inkland turned red and blustered. "Nothing was within detector range of me!" he insisted.