Belle linked all four minds together and directed the search, making sure that no item, however small, was missed. Avengord recorded every pertinent item. Fram Kimling memorized and correlated and double-checked. Soon it was done, and Basil, shouting even louder about this last and worst violation of his rights--those of his own private mind--was led away by two men and "put away where he would keep." "But this _is_ a flagrant violation of law...." Miss Kimling began. "You can say _that_ again!" her boss gloated. "And if you only knew how tickled I am to do it, after the way they've been kicking _me_ around! "But I wonder ... are you sure we can get away with it?" "Certainly," Belle put in. "We Galaxians are doing it, not your government or your Secret Service. We'll start you clean--but it'll be up to you to keep it clean, and that will be no easy job." "No, it won't; but we'll do it. Come around again, say in five or six years, and see." "You know, I might take you up on that? Maybe not this same team, but I've got a notion to tape a recommendation for a re-visit, just to see how you get along. It'd be interesting." "I wish you would. It might help, too, if everybody thought you'd come back to check. Suppose you could?" "I've no idea, really. I'd like to, though, and I'll see what I can do. But let's get on with the job. They're all in what you call the 'tank' now. Which one do you want next?" The work went on. That evening there was of course a reception; and then a ball. And Belle's feet did hurt when she got back to the _Pleiades_, but of course she would not admit the fact--most especially not to Garlock. Exactly at the expiration of the stipulated seventy-two hours, the Galaxians began to destroy military atomic plants; and, shortly thereafter, the starship's crew was again ready to go. And James rammed home the red button that would send them--all four wondered--_where_? It turned out to be another Hodell-type world; and, even with the high-speed comparator, it took longer to check the charts than it did to make them. * * * The next planet was similar. So was the next, and the next. The time required for checking grew longer and longer. "How about cutting out this checking entirely, Clee?" James asked then. "What good does it do? Even if we find a similarity, what could we do about it? We've got enough stuff now to keep a crew of astronomers busy for five years making a tank of it." "Okay. We probably are so far away now, anyway, that the chance of finding a similarity is vanishingly small. Keep on taking the shots, though; they'll prove, I think, that the universe is one whole hell of a lot bigger than anybody has ever thought it was. That reminds me--are you getting anywhere on that N-problem? I'm not."