But then there was a roaring of motorcycles racing across the field with a black car trailing them. The car pulled up beside the fog wagon, then sped swiftly to where Joe was coming out of wild rage and sinking into sick, black depression. He'd been responsible for the pilot gyros and their safe arrival. What had happened wasn't his fault, but it was not his job merely to remain blameless. It was his job to get the gyros delivered and set up in the Space Platform. He had failed. The black car braked to a stop. There was Major Holt. Joe had seen him six months before. He'd aged a good deal. He looked grimly at the two pilots. "What happened?" he demanded. "You dumped your fuel! What burned like this?" Joe said thickly: "Everything was dumped but the pilot gyros. They didn't burn! They were packed at the plant!" The co-pilot suddenly made an incoherent sound of rage. "I've got it!" he said hoarsely. "I know----" "What?" snapped Major Holt. "They--planted that grenade at the--major overhaul!" panted the co-pilot, too enraged even to swear. "They--fixed it so--any trouble would mean a wreck! And I--pulled the fire-extinguisher releases just as we hit! For all compartments! To flood everything with CO_2! But it wasn't CO_2! That's what burned!" Major Holt stared sharply at him. He held up his hand. Somebody materialized beside him. He said harshly: "Get the extinguisher bottles sealed and take them to the laboratory." "Yes, sir!" A man went running toward the wreck. Major Holt said coldly: "That's a new one. We should have thought of it. You men get yourselves attended to and report to Security at the Shed." The pilot and co-pilot turned away. Joe turned to go with them. Then he heard Sally's voice, a little bit wobbly: "Joe! Come with us, please!" Joe hadn't seen her, but she was in the car. She was pale. Her eyes were wide and frightened. Joe said stiffly: "I'll be all right. I want to look at those crates----" Major Holt said curtly: "They're already under guard. There'll have to be photographs made before anything can be touched. And I want a report from you, anyhow. Come along!" Joe looked. The motorcycles were abandoned, and there were already armed guards around the still-steaming wreck, grimly watching the men of the fog wagon as they hunted for remaining sparks or flame. It was noticeable that now nobody moved toward the wreck. There were figures walking back toward the edge of the field. What civilians were about, even to the mechanics on duty, had started out to look at the debris at close range. But the guards were on the job. Nobody could approach. The onlookers went back to their proper places. "Please, Joe!" said Sally shakily.