"Unless--" began Maddox, then paused. He knew that if he advanced a theory unasked it would be scorned. However, were he to make some leading statement and then disavow it unuttered Kingston would demand that he complete it whether he thought it right or wrong. Kingston did, which was an excellent proof of the theory that it is a good thing to know the nature of your fellow man. "Unless what?" demanded Kingston. "It was but an idle thought. Who fights more fiercely--he who has lost his home and fights for another or he who protects himself from the one who would dispossess him?" Kingston laughed nastily. "Little difference," he said. "This is rigged so that no matter what, a fight will ensue. It is always easy to lick the survivor of a tough battle." Maddox shrugged. "Just remember that you're not fighting aliens, but you--our--own kind!" Kingston nodded. "That," he said succinctly, "is why I know them so well." * * * * * Cauldron looked at his watch. "Two hours," he said. "Time enough?" Virginia looked concerned. "He didn't state whether he'd been asleep lately," she said. "Unless he's a complete screwball, he'll work days and sleep nights," observed Moray. "Even supposing he works at home, he'll be arising about noon at the latest and hitting the hay about three-odd. Excepting when something was really in the fire like this receiver of his. I predict that he hit the sheets after we closed and is now pounding the pillow at a fine rate of speed." Virginia smiled uncertainly, turning back from her communicating equipment. "He doesn't answer," she said. "Can you locate his phosphor?" demanded Cauldron. "I have." "Then try," snapped Moray. "Aid! Help!" he sneered, "We're in the way of losing our very lives, and what we need, we take!" Cauldron nodded. "Moray--you first. If Bronson is still in evidence clip him. If not we'll go ahead and do whatever is necessary. We can't take too long. After all--" Moray nodded. "Ready, Virginia?" "Ready." Virginia worked over another bit of equipment in her laboratory. Moray walked over easily, smoking a last cigarette leisurely until Virginia turned to him. "The focal volumes are resonant," she said. Then Moray seated himself in the chair before the equipment and, as Virginia started the machine, it began to transmit Pete Moray from one world to the other. * * * * * It was not especially spectacular. No flashing lights or flowing aurae of color. Moray's body, still breathing, still living, began to be less solid. At one time Moray lit another cigarette. A bit of the cigarette smoke entered Ed Bronson's laboratory. The amount was that percentage of the transmission that had been accomplished. There, before the big kinescope tube in Bronson's laboratory, the air was beginning to show the vague outlines of a figure, seated on a chair. This figure thickened gradually as the random atoms in Moray's body passed over.