Third Webster stirred restlessly, not listening. Somewhere here lay the answer. Somewhere mixed up in the Kant Alloy and magnetic fields lay the solution they were all looking for. It couldn't be a ray; science had shown that to be impossible. Or had it? The Uranians were good along certain lines. It would be just like them to pop up with the impossible. The recital ended toward evening. Immediately Ashdown's clean deep voice cut in: "Gentlemen. One thing seems obvious. Whatever it is they've discovered, they are only testing it out. They are not trying to destroy us. If that's the case we need only wait until they get enough data, then it will be safe to go near them. It might be safe now. We could send a remote-controlled gig from one of our ships to see if they down it." The argument started. Some wanted to send bombs. Others wanted to wait and see what happened. But a majority wanted to follow Ashdown's suggestion even though it might mean the loss of one of the eight remaining ships. A vote was taken. Ashdown won. At reveille the next morning volunteers were called for from among the Spacemen. Every man was ready. So the Board sat down to pick the crew. Admiral Cantwell was to go as First Officer. There was some discussion about the Second but he was soon picked. When it came to Third the Board didn't even have to think. Webster. But as his name was being written down one of the Board remembered something. He leaned forward and hesitantly asked Admiral Cantwell: "Is Webster all right with you, Admiral?" "Of course. Why not? He's the best we've got." "I know, but--well. You and he had a run-in so...." "That's done with," said the Admiral. "I shouldn't have been handling his runabout anyhow." He stopped a moment, then went on. "You know. We could clean up this whole situation if we could only get Webster down on Uranian soil, say right in the middle of Central City. Damn. Can you imagine what would happen?" He fingered his mouth reminiscently. The others tried to imagine it, and couldn't. So they got back to work listing the crew. At dawn the _Sirius_ took off. A hundred thousand miles short of Uranus she swung into an orbit around the planet. That was close enough. Two hours later the remote-controlled gig was ready. All hands watched it flash away from the mother ship, gathering speed every millisecond, set on a course that would carry it within fifty miles of the rim of Uranus. Webster sat tensely at a visi-scope in the _Sirius_. Maybe he'd see something that would crystalize the formless thought within him. More than ever he felt he had the answer right at his fingertips. But he couldn't drag it out. He saw a Uranian ship rise to meet the gig. The two drew closer together. And when they were about ten-thousand miles apart the gig suddenly crumbled. There was no explosion, no sign of a ray, nothing. The gig just broke into little pieces. An audible gasp went up from the crew of the _Sirius_.