“Well, we’re going to try,” said Sven, his features impassive. After a moment of reluctance, the Englishman pulled a slim platinum timepiece from his pocket. “The chain, too?” he asked. “Sure--why not? Thanks.” The inventor took the objects and placed them in an adjustable holder in the center of the transmitter. “You spoiled my time last night, Mr. Harris,” he said. “Why shouldn’t I spoil yours today?” “_Hah!_ Very good,” said Harris, looking faintly uncomfortable. In the screen, Witherspoon said, “Ready here, Sven.” “Coming at you,” said the redheaded inventor. He pushed a button. Witherspoon unlocked the receiver on the screen and held the Englishman’s watch close to it. “Jove! It’s still ticking!” said Harris, looking relieved. Moments later, it had been sent back and he was holding it in his hand, an expression of utter incredulity on his habitually impassive face. “Impossible!” he exclaimed faintly. “But true,” said Sven with a trace of mockery. Hamilton frowned at him and shook his head. After a half dozen other tests, which included transmission and re-transmission of a kilo of butter, a lump of crude iron, a book, a jet-sled, a handkerchief and a bunch of station-grown grapes, the two parties reassembled and rode the monorail back to the main base, where Witherspoon had them served fine synthetic brandy. Hamilton noted that Ryan took a soft drink instead. There had been little talk during the journey. In Witherspoon’s quarters, Hamilton noticed an obviously shaken Charley Forsythe and a white-faced Ian Harris gathered in a corner, where they seemed to be reaching some sort of whispered agreement. Miss Alderman, regarding them anxiously, nudged her chief’s elbow and asked, “Don’t you think we ought to break that up before it goes too far? I’m not scared of either of them. But the thought of them together gives me chills.” Hamilton shook his head. “Let’s hear what they have to say,” he replied, _sotto voce_. “I’d like to get this whole business thrashed out and settled before we get back to New York. Once they’re on their own again, I’m afraid to imagine what they’ll do.” He chatted with Sven Ryan and Witherspoon, congratulating them on their achievement. But he kept a weather eye cocked on the conference in the corner. When Forsythe cleared his throat like some giant bullfrog, and stepped forward, he was prepared for anything. “First,” said the aggressive financier in his great roar of a voice, “I want to congratulate you, Ryan, and all of you in SPR, for what you have shown us this afternoon. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I’d never have believed it.” He paused for effect, then went on with, “However, I am sure you are all aware of the momentous consequences of this latest and greatest of human accomplishments. Before I go on, I want to say that Mr. Harris, as the UN representative on the spot, is in full agreement with me.