"We did. We had not seen a human in a long time." The djinni paused, then said, "The Martians had space travel when Earthmen were barbarians. They came to Terra, and we, sensing danger in them, drove them out. We saw to it that the Martians would tell tales of the horrors of Earth life, and never come back." "By God," said Pink, "that's why they never colonized Earth, though they had spaceships! It's one of the biggest problems we've known." "Then I've solved it for you. Will you do me a favor in return?" "What?" "Have you any lead left?" "A little." "Then lay it on my chest, and give me a quick death." "Get it," Pink said to Daley. The lieutenant started a protest. Pink said, "My Lord, can't we afford to be merciful now? After all that slaughter?" And Daley went to find the lead. Circe said, "Why do you want to go to Earth so badly? What's there that you want? You're such an independent form of life...." "Atmosphere," said the djinni. "But you don't breathe!" "We do, however, talk; and we cannot hear each other in a vacuum. We wanted to find Earth again and know the pleasure of communication. On Oasis we had to talk with our hands." It groaned, grotesquely human in its agony. "Can you imagine living for centuries without the joy of conversation?" it asked pitifully. Circe shook her head. "I don't much blame you," she said in a small voice. Daley came back. He handed a small rough bar of lead to Pink. The Captain's mind seethed with questions he longed to ask; but the reaction of the battle was settling in with vengeance, and he could not see this great paralyzed brute live on because of his own more or less idle curiosity. He bent forward from the chair. "Sorry," he said, and dropped the bar onto its chest. "Wait!" said Jerry. "How did you know how to spell _phony_?" The djinni made a small hissing noise that had something in it of contentment. Its eyes turned jetty, and they knew it was dead. "It died happy," said Daley to the slim O. O. "It knew it was leaving us a problem that we'd never solve. What a--what a malicious character it was!" "Poor devil," said Circe. "No conversation for five hundred years!" CHAPTER XXV Four days later Pinkham and Circe stood quietly before a scanner screen, Pink leaning on a cane, and watched the great lead vat and then the multitude of bottles go tumbling into space. "We are giving them a chance of survival," mused Circe. "There's about one chance in a billion that some day they'll be found and released again."