"All right. Are you happy? Got to have the best, don't you?" growled Lane. "Can't stand to see anybody take even a toothpick that you can't have two of." "If you were more than a drug-store cowboy ... brother, what a get-up." Lane flushed. "My clothing is my own business." "It's very fetching. Chic, even." "Shut up, dough-head. _I'm_ not forced to wear an iceman's uniform so people won't think--" "What's the matter with me?" gritted Downing. "You might at least put on a clean shirt," drawled Lane, tossing his cigarette at Downing. "Oh, swish--" That did it. Lane's right hand streaked for his hip after a warning gesture. Downing's two hands dropped and came up with the twin modines. Only a microtime film record would ever tell the quicker man. Their weapons came up and forward and the dust of landing Circle One was shocked with a sharp electrical splat. III. "And that's your job, Thompson," said Kennebec. "And that's enough," responded Thompson. He wiped his face. "Oh, I'll issue the proper orders. They'll receive them--and any trace of insubordination on the part of either of them will be cause for reprimand. Public reprimand." "But the reason behind all this? I don't understand." "Nor does anyone else. Look Thompson, the Little Man has a super ship out there on Mojave. It is a real bear-cat. Packed into space smaller than this office is enough stuff to hold off the Guard for a week. That's premise number one. "Number two. They have some sort of telepathic means of communications. "Number three. They came here for help. Why, I may never tell you until it's analyzed by the experts. But they came here for help. A machine, bomb, some means of hell and destruction or other must be destroyed. It must be located, too. Using some means of analysis on our card files, voice records, identification quizzes, and so forth, they decided upon Lane and Downing as the mainsprings. They'll have none other. Now why or wherefore isn't for me to decide. If they want Lane and Downing, they'll get Lane and Downing and none others. At the very least, we've got to play their game as long and as well as we can play it. I want to have the Solar Guard equipped as well as that ship is, and this is the way to do it." "Why don't they go out and destroy this thing themselves?" asked Thompson. "I wouldn't know. You know as much as I do." "They may fear the cat race." "If I had their stuff, I'd fear nothing." The telephone rang and Kennebec lifted it. He listened and then hung up slowly. "Your job--" he said. "Lane and Downing are making a running fist fight to see who lands on Circle One. If you go a-screeching fast, you might be able to make it by the time they hit." "Right--" and Thompson left unceremoniously. He hit the street, landed in his car, and was a half block away, siren screaming, before he realized that he had a passenger. It was Patricia. "Huh?" he asked foolishly.