"Let him go," rasped Williams. "There's nothing we can do now anyway, Joe." "Yeah, yeah. Let's write the report up ourselves. That's real important, you know. The Government needs it." He sat down at the typewriter, his heavy features twisted in hopeless bitterness and anger. He started typing, and then stopped for a moment. "What was this kid pilot's full name, Williams?" Williams checked the Government order sheet. "Hell," he said. "Strangely, it's the same as the doctor's, Dr. Alfred Burnett. Only the kid's name is Harold Burnett." Donnelly sat, suddenly transfixed, staring at his typewriter. A peculiar look flashed across his face. Then he shook his massive head in an unbelieving gesture of agonized understanding. "Hell, no," he muttered to himself. "It couldn't be. It just couldn't be. It just isn't possible. Burnett! _Burnett!_" Swiftly he was on his feet and moving through the door after the vanished figure of the little doctor, his face a mask of grim remorse. "It was merciful," he muttered. "Yes, it _was_ merciful. It was the only thing Doc Burnett could have done." Williams stared after Donnelly's disappearing figure in frank and open-mouthed amazement. "Hey, Joe," he yelled. "Where the hell are you going?" The outer door slammed shut on the departing echo of his words. "Well, I'll be hung for an ugly son!" he muttered to himself. "Nobody makes sense around this place, any more." He shrugged half to himself and then began to type out the rest of the report. "I don't get it," he mumbled to himself. "I just don't get it at all. There's no logic in it." Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from _Fantastic Universe_ September 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note. Although _polaroid_ appears as originally printed, given the lack of a capital letter, it may be a printer's error for _polarized_.