"Once the suppressor is destroyed," he said with a smile of contemplation, "we can use this on them." "And that means success!" breathed Toralen Ki. "From that time on, our plans--" "Wait, the communicator is operating," said Hotang Lu, waving a hand. He reached for the communicator's controls and started to talk swiftly, pressing his head against the plate above the voice-transmitter. Flight Commander Thompson handed Downing a sheaf of papers. "There's the wave analysis," he said with pride. Downing looked them over. "You've got the technical crew. Can we reproduce all or any of it?" "Only by tearing down a couple of modine directors. The boys can convert the spotting, training, and ranging circuits--they'll use the components--and rebuild the thing to generate barriers. The snatcher is easy. We'll just juggle the main modulating system of a tractor generator. That comes out so simple I feel slightly sick at not having thought of it myself." "What is its analysis?" asked Downing. "Couple a force beam with a tractor focus-zone generator. The tractor, you know, operates on the field-of-focus principle. A rough sphere at the end of the beam--anything in that field is drawn. The snatcher merely applies the field-of-focus idea to the side-thrust of a force beam. You raise the power several times and anchor it with a superdrive tube coupled so that the thrust is balanced against a spatial thrust instead of the ship. That tears the guts out of anything." "I have an idea that you might be able to cut instead of tear if you include some nuclear-resonant frequencies in the field of focus generator." "Is it necessary?" "Might be interesting," said Downing. "They tear. If we land on them with something that quickly, precisely, quietly, and almost painlessly slices a sphere out of one of their ships, they may be impressed." "You have something there. I'm going to tear into some of the planet-mounted jobs. We are now sixty-three ships. I can make one snatcher out of every dymodine that's planet-mounted out here. Shall I?" "How long?" "Ten hours each." "Six hundred and thirty hours. Twenty-six days and six hours." "We'll make it in twenty days. By the time the boys get to Number Ten or Twelve they'll be working shortcut and on production-line basis and the piece-time will drop." "Twenty days is long enough, believe me. We'll toss in my gang and Lane's gang, too. They can go to work on the modine directors and make barriers out of 'em if you claim they'll work." "They'll work." "Then let's get going. The Little Guys are tearing their hair as it is." Thompson nodded. "But look," said Downing, "don't rip up any dymodines ahead. Convert slowly. If the catmen attack, we'll need all we can muster to fight 'em off." "Right." "And as for Cliff Lane--he isn't dead until we prove it, see? So far as I know, he might be getting an education in cat-culture right now."