"I got you!" Gramps cried. "We'll really find the weapon." There just was no convincing a die-hard romantic who had fought in the last war. "Yes and no," I said. "There is no weapon, none here and none anyplace else in the Belt. _Only we'll make believe that we find one._ A war of nerves, Gramps. Maybe we can scare them the hell off this planet." "Hmm-m," said Gramps. "I knew you'd come around to my way of thinking." Because we all liked the idea, we continued to speak of it for hours, and this is the way things boiled down. Item. It had to be an awful weapon, something that would frighten a man and make the little hackles stand up on the back of his neck, and something which apparently could be applied most readily here on 4270. They were convinced that a weapon did exist, good: they'd believe almost anything we could concoct. Item. This one I didn't like. Since our two talkative friends had intimated that their boss knew the weapon couldn't be within our dome, we'd have to go outside for the weapon and let them catch a glimpse or two of us prowling about. That could be dangerous, because they could pop us off with their disintegrators any time they got the urge. Which would probably be as soon as they saw something tangible at which to fire. We'd have to flit about like shadows. Less than shadows. Item. We'd start "broadcasting" to them, and we'd pretend we didn't know we were doing it. The bigger the lie the better it would sound, and we'd have to start almost at once. This could be fun. Item. We had nothing concretely in mind beyond that. But the important thing, as Gramps put it, was this: we'd be in the driver's seat, conducting the war exactly how we wanted, and they'd have to sit around guessing. Gramps was chipper enough to strum a few notes on his guitar. * * * * * For three Earth days by the clock in our living quarters, we managed to stay out of trouble. And I think we were getting somewhere, too. Gramps would go outside with Clair, poking around amid the rubble, talking about how close they were coming. Then they'd let themselves be seen, just for the briefest moment, and they'd scoot back inside our dome, fast. Probably, it was pretty safe at that. We could tell from what they said via intercom that our visitors were interested. And, if they thought we knew something, they'd be in no hurry to kill us. At the most, they'd want to take us alive and see what they could learn. Gramps and Clair were outside, talking, and as I listened, I got an idea. If I went outside, too, our enemy would be confused into believing there were more of us. I could invent a few new voices and a few names and they might be led to believe we had a whole army here with us. So what if our ship was small? This could have been the last of several trips....