A stilted monster rolled out from Fabriville under its own power. Four great girdered legs supported a housing the size of a freight car, and the legs moved on small tractor treads. Out it came, and it paused just outside of the gate. A faint violet glow emerged from the bottom of the housing, and the whirling-skirling of Martian sands obscured the vastness of the space between the legs of the monster machine. It moved again, and the original dust settled to disclose a very small but completely finished and furnished house. Around the encircling fence went the monstrous duplicator, and at each pause it dropped the carbon copy of the original house. Hour after hour it hummed, and when it completed the circle, Norton's mob was housed, fed, and clothed. * * * * * Venus Equilateral resounded and re-echoed from the force of the blast. It rocked, and precession tilted it away from its true North and South axial positioning. Men raced along the car-way to the blister laboratory and Channing led the wild rush. The blister was gone. A shaken Wes Farrell clung to a stanchion, his face white behind the spacesuit mask. They fished him out of the wreckage and took him inside. "What happened?" asked Don. "Was making artificial elements," explained Wes. "Far outside of the Periodic Chart. I'd been stacking them over in a corner--they come in six-inch cubes, you know. But the last one--_Bang!_" Channing shook his head. "That's dangerous," he said solemnly. "If you had a six-inch cube of every known element, would you stack 'em all side by side?" "It might be all right--until you came to putting phosphorus on top of a hunk of iodine," said Walt. "There's no reason to suppose that Wes didn't get a couple of very active elements side by each. We know nothing of the extra-charted elements. We can make 'em, but until we do, what can we know of them?" "Well, we didn't lose the Station," said Walt. "And business is so punk that tossing the beams won't harm us much; we'll have to spend some time aligning the place again." "We're all here, anyway," agreed Don, looking over the ruined blister laboratory. "But look, Wes, I think you're running on the wrong gear. Anything that can be made with this gadget can be duplicated. Right?" "I guess so." "What we need is a substance that will be stabilized under some sort of electronic pressure. Then it might come unglued when the matter-dingbat beam hit it. Follow?" Wes Farrell thought for a few seconds. "We might make an electronic alloy," he said. "A what?"