"They're crazy!" said Maril vehemently. "They knew Weald would do something monstrous sooner or later. But they're going to try to stop it by more monstrousness sooner! Not everybody agrees, but there are enough. So they want to use your ship--it's faster in overdrive and so on. And they'll go to Weald--in this ship--and--they say they'll give Weald something to keep it busy without bothering us!" Calhoun said drily; "This pays me off for being too sympathetic with blueskins! But if I'd been hungry for a couple of years, and was despised to boot by the people who kept me hungry, I suppose I might react the same way. No," he said curtly as she opened her lips to speak again. "Don't tell me the trick. Considering everything, there's only one trick it could be. But I doubt profoundly that it would work. All right." He slid the door back and returned to the control-room. Maril followed him. He said detachedly; "I've been working on a problem outside of the food one. It isn't the time to talk about it right now, but I think I've solved it." Maril turned her head, listening. There were footsteps on the tarmac outside the ship. Both doors of the airlock were open. Four men came in. They were young men who did not look quite as hungry as most Darians, but there was a reason for that. Their leader introduced himself and the others. They were the astrogators of the ship Dara had built to try to bring food from Orede. They were not good enough, said their self-appointed leader. They overshot their destination. They came out of overdrive too far off line. They needed instructions. Calhoun nodded, and observed that he'd been asking for them. "We've got orders," said their leader, steadily, "to come on board and learn from you how to handle this ship. It's better than the one we've got." "I asked for you," repeated Calhoun. "I've an idea I'll explain as we go along. Those boxes?" Someone was passing in iron boxes through the airlock. One of the four very carefully brought them inside. "They're rations," said a second young man. "We don't go anywhere without rations--except Orede." "Orede, yes. I think we were shooting at each other there," said Calhoun pleasantly. "Weren't we?" "Yes," said the young man. He was neither cordial nor antagonistic. He was impassive. Calhoun shrugged. "Then we can take off immediately. Here's the communicator and there's the button. You might call the grid and arrange for us to be lifted." The young man seated himself at the control-board. Very professionally, he went through the routine of preparing to lift by landing-grid, which routine has not changed in two hundred years. He went briskly ahead until the order to lift. Then Calhoun stopped him. "Hold it!" He pointed to the airlock. Both doors were open. The young man at the control-board flushed vividly. One of the others closed and dogged the doors. * * * * *