_They_ wanted physicists, huh? He'd show them, whoever they were. He'd fox them. The trick was completely incomprehensible, but however they did it, it was as neat a program of treachery as had been invented in all history. In an earlier day the enemy went for the leaders, the generals and the admirals and the kings and emperors. Now it was the engineers and physicists, for it was science that carried victory. The most brilliant military strategist was a mere cork bobbing on the rim of a whirlpool if he were not equipped with the latest and best that could come from applied physics. But Dave was not a physicist. He was just a scribbler of articles, an occasional writer of fiction. So Dave was not the man _they_ wanted. Let them sit and chew their fingernails while he, a zero quantity as far as they were concerned, toyed with the crystal. It wouldn't be practical to waste the crystal on him, any more than it was practical to hurl a can of SPAM[1] at a convoy escort. [Footnote 1: For Self Propelled Atomic Missile: a humorous contraction used in a novel, "Murder of the U.S.A.," by Will F. Jenkins, shortly after World War II. When self-propelled guided missiles came into being, General Lansdowne conferred Jenkins' appellation upon them and the name has remained.--G.O.S.] Dave arrived at the remote lab and went to work. They checked him through the video and the sound channel both ways, and then Dave turned toward the crystal. "The power," he said, "is being built up, as you can hear in the background, the generators are groaning a bit under the initial heavy load. The--ah--gaussmeter is rising up the scale. It occurs to me that the boys on the other side of this might well be chewing their fingernails at the moment. If I've got this thing figured right, _they_ can see into this lab and know me and who I am--and possibly what I am doing. Maybe they've even figured out the why of it. "Now, the next item is something I've been keeping quiet about. I doubt that _they_ can read minds, but I'm pretty sure they can hear us and watch us. So I've kept quiet until now. "As Dr. Thomas Meteridge can tell you, I've been given about six months to live. So I have nothing to lose, especially if I can prove a point. I've claimed stoutly that _they_ aren't interested in anything but physicists, and that a tyro would be safe out here. But it's still possible that I was wrong. "As you'll note, I've already got farther than either Claverly or Phelps. I think that if I kept my mouth shut now, I'd be allowed to finish the job. But--I think I have a clue to the identity of the enemy, and the method they're using to destroy our top scientific talent!" He paused. "Of course, I could be bluffing. But I don't think _they_ can afford to take that chance. So, in a minute, when I start to tell you what I think I know, they'll have to decide...." "Dave," cried Jane, "what chance have you got?"