Then he closed the cabinet and sealed it. From the plane he took a large spray, and setting it up aground, the doctor proceeded to stand, turn, and generally bathe in the atomizer output. He sprayed the outside of the cabinet with it, and then proceeded to work the ground and air over, spraying in all directions, including the other catman, Linzete. The doctor finished his proceedings by spraying Cliff Lane's ship on the outside, and turning the spray into the spacelock and liberally drenching the runway and entrance of the Solarian vessel. Cliff nodded understandingly. He didn't even object to being sprayed himself, for the stuff was aromatic though a bit sticky when it started to dry. The doctor took off. "Wonder what he'll find," mused Cliff. And then a large white craft landed. It was completely inclosed, and the driver's compartment was set off from the rest. "The paddy-wagon," grinned Cliff. Clad as the doctor had been, four catmen came from the craft bearing sprays. One of them approached Cliff and motioned for him to follow. Cliff nodded, but turned and called back: "Let 'em sterilize to their heart's content, fellows. After all, we want their co-operation!" He entered the large ship as the other three catmen entered the spacelock of Lane's ship and went to work. Within fifteen minutes, Cliff Lane was residing in a sterile, spotlessly white room. The windows were sealed and the door was air-tight. A portable atmosphere-cleaner purred in one corner, freshening the air and cooling it. From a speaker in the wall there came music--of a sort--and through a double window in the wall Lane and the catmen indulged in mutual inspection. A large block of paper hung on an easel, and a heavy black crayon lay in the tray. Cliff nodded. Heavy black crayon so that his sketchings could be seen from the distance. He smiled, scowled at the music, and then started to sketch. The Little People had not been able to convey the reasons for their desires to the humans, but human and catmen were not possessed of any form of telepathy to augment their communications. Cliff was a fair cartoonist, and he progressed well. The catmen began to understand. * * * * * The days sped past, marked only by the clock and the chiming of watch-change bells. Dymodines returned from their mountings on the living rock of the innermost planet, they entered the ships of the combined commands, and were converted, one by one. The machine shops in the bellies of the ships hummed and racketed, and the stockroom stores went down. The scrap pile outside on the airless face of One grew as the dymodines were converted; parts of no use were tossed out. The catmen did not molest them. Not once during the twenty days of labor was there any report, or any sight of the catmen. If the catmen were using scanners on them, the catman scanner used frequencies never tried by humans, for the detectors gave the spectrum a clear ticket.