Pryor thought fast though his head ached badly. He said, “I fear the drive fuel reached critical mass. It happens once in a hundred thousand times.” It hadn’t, it couldn’t, but how could he tell them they were as good as dead? And himself with them, of course. But he didn’t waste time thinking about that. When he got back to the Dominie’s house, the wife greeted him gravely. She wore a soft wool robe, and her hair was in odd wisps of paper, and he could tell by the way she looked at him that she knew. “Where can I find the Dominie?” he asked. “He’s in the basement of the kirk,” she said in her soft untroubled voice. “He asked me to ask you to join him there.” “Thanks, ma’am,” Pryor replied. There was nothing more to say. The light was dim in the basement. The place smelled of age and dampness. But there was machinery there, a vast pile of it, and the Dominie was fussing around it, wearing a frown. “Ho, there, Pryor,” he said. “So they blew up your ship?” “They blew her up,” said Pryor grimly. “I never thought they’d dare. If only I hadn’t made an idiot of myself at the dance, I’d--” The Dominie cut him off with, “It’s a bit late for regrets, young man. Come see if we can get this blasted communicator working.” Pryor’s heart leapt. For a moment, he thought he was gaining a reprieve. Then he saw the age and condition of the old set--it was at least a century old--and realized they’d be lucky to get a message out at all before the big one blew them to nothingness. “Come on, Dominie,” he said, “let’s have that wrench.” They worked through the short night and into the morning that followed. The Dominie’s wife brought them a strange herb brew she called tea, that reinvigorated them. She said, to Pryor, “Sheila and the other girls are very excited. They believe you’ll be staying a while now. You’ll be the first stranger in many years.” Pryor wiped his brow grimly and said, “Well, I’ll be here as long as any of them, I guess.” “Then there’s no hope?” the Dominie asked quietly over his tea. “Oh, we’ll get a message out to the IC,” said Pryor. “We’re almost ready to send. But it will be too late. The bomb is already on its way.” “Come on then,” said the Dominie, handing his tea back to his wife. “Let’s waste no time.” They got the message out, before the reddish sun reached the Meridian. And Pryor said grimly, “That makes their second mistake. They should have blasted the town last night, not just my ship. Their first mistake was in selecting this planet.” He looked about him at the placid, happy scene, and suppressed a heaving sob. The Dominie put a firm hand on his shoulder and said, “Perhaps it’s best this way. Perhaps this is why we are here, to prevent the most terrible war of all. After all, there aren’t many of us against those who would die if your marshal got his way.” Pryor said, his eyes shining with admiration, “You’re a great man, Dominie--and a brave one.”