So Lanse handed out the gadgets to the Thagwar, who beamed with delight. And after that the negotiations were a snapperoo. We told what we wanted: permission for Earth's colonists to settle on Themis, the right to construct spaceports, and so on and so forth ... and the ruler said, "Yes ... yes ... yes," till he sounded like a phonograph needle caught in a worn groove. There remained but one thing to be done. The formal signing of the treaty. So Lanse drew from his pocket the previously prepared sheets, and was just getting ready to help the Thagwar scrawl a legal "X" on the dotted line when a stir passed through the assemblage. * * * * * It was a nervousness, a jitteriness, you could _feel_! Heads craned upward to look at the sky, hooves pawed restlessly at the turf. And one by one, the centaurlike denizens of Themis began drifting away, cantering back toward the cluster of hovels which was their capital city. Even the Thagwar seemed hesitant, uncertain. For a few minutes he tried to carry on like a bold, brave monarch. Then with a little whimper that sounded almost like a whinny, he picked up his bundle of loot and galloped away, too. Cap Hanson's jaw dropped like a wildcat stock in a bear market. "Well, I'll be!" he choked. "Now what?" But Biggs had been studying the sky. Now he frowned. "Night," he said. "Eh?" "Night," repeated Lanse, "or what passes for night on this peculiar little satellite. You see, Themis doesn't revolve on its axis, therefore it has no night or daytime as we on Earth know those periods. And, of course, since it travels about its primary so swiftly, and since Saturn itself emits so strong a _gegenschein_, occultation by the mother planet doesn't create perfect darkness. "But Themis' invisible little companion swings about Themis. And whenever it comes between this world and the Sun a dark period ensues. I should judge we are about to experience one right now. Yes--see? It is beginning to get dark." "You mean," stormed Hanson, "everything's called off on account of darkness? The pact ain't goin' to be signed?" "Apparently not," admitted Lanse ruefully. "Almost all aboriginal races have a deep dread of darkness, you know. Well--" He shrugged--"there's no sense in our waiting out here until the 'night' period ends. We might as well go back to the ship and be comfortable." So we did. Fortunately, the phony "night" didn't last long. Fortunately for me, I mean. Because as soon as we got to the ship, Lanse pranced along with me up to the radio turret, and there pestered the living bejabbers out of me to try to get some word from Earth. But that was strictly no go. My audio was humming like a tenor in a tepid shower. Static galore. But at last the invisible barrier cutting us off from Sol's light slipped away, and once again we marched out onto the soil of Themis.