"I'll take care of it," the smaller man said choppily. "We're not confiscating it, exactly, Mr. Crayley. The tape will remain where it is. Immediately after the accident, I phoned the Executive Secretary at the capital. He is sending down an investigating board by special jet." "May I ask why this rather high-handed action, Colonel Green?" The colonel patted the air with a nervous hand. "Calm yourself, Mr. Crayley. I am Fenwick Greene; the 'colonel' is merely a military title I have to put up with." "_Fenwick_ Greene!" It was one of the few times in his life that Crayley's screen, his wall, his defense, collapsed. "My--my apologies, sir! I didn't realize--I mean, I had no idea it was you--in the Space Force!" He had never seen Fenwick Greene's picture, of course. No newspaper would dare commit such a flagrant violation of privacy. Greene accepted Crayley's hand for a few seconds, then withdrew his own hand. "I was--ah--drafted," he explained. Major Stratford smiled. "When the Space Force needs men, they pick the best." Crayley nodded dumbly. Fenwick Greene was undoubtedly the greatest co-ordination engineer who had ever lived. The late Berin Klythe couldn't hold a candle to him. His waldo recordings were like symphonies of precision and speed. Someone had once said that, given enough recording technicians and enough time to train them his way, Fenwick Greene could build a spaceship faster than parts could be made for it. It was an exaggeration, of course, but it showed what the trade thought of Fenwick Greene. Greene tapped his teeth with his thumbnail. "We aren't confiscating the tape; we simply want it run. We're guarding it." "Why?" Crayley asked bluntly. Greene pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. "This is a communication from Berin Klythe to the Construction Command of the Space Force. In it, he notified us that the test would be run today. He also says--" Greene held up the paper. "Quote: 'due to the fact that the Space Force has insisted that I use their technicians for the recording of this unit, I hardly feel I can claim that the recording is up to my usual standards. Had I been permitted to use my own men, I am sure better construction would have been obtained.'" Greene replaced the paper in his pocket. "Naturally," he continued, "we don't think there is anything really wrong with the recording. Klythe, like myself, was a perfectionist. However, we would like to have the tape played before an examining board in order to clear ourselves and possibly clear Berin's own name. I watched the construction from beginning to end, and I could find no fault with it. However, we want a qualified board to check it. You see--" He coughed apologetically. "--I trained those technicians myself." Crayley nodded. "I see." There was nothing he could do. If he objected, they'd know who gimmicked the tape. Well, no matter. They'd know how Berin Klythe had died, but they wouldn't know who had done it.