"Oh, we're pretty good engineers these days," Garry said eagerly. "Tell you about it sometime. Well, the J-man's fixing your pilot signal now. It'll fly on automatic. It ought to be pretty interesting, really, your first space trip and all." H.D. scarcely heard him. The "J-man" had put his tools back in their bag and was descending to the pavement. The door closed with a ringing sound and the J-man was doing something to it from the outside. Despairing, frustrated tears welled in H.D.'s eyes. His knuckles whitened. A faint vibration stirred in the flyer and H.D. looked around in panic. Going already? He felt horribly afraid. He had an impulse to claw the walls. Garry caught his wild look and returned a glance of sympathy. His lips moved, but no sound came. H.D. stared. Garry's lips moved again, and he gestured. H.D. remembered then and hit the toggle. "... easy, Mr. Haworth." Garry's voice was as clear now as though he spoke beside him. The flyer lifted gently and eased around in a 180-degree turn. The last tints of evening glowed in the western sky, the earth was lost in darkness and the first insolent stars were mocking him. Garry, on the other side now, called again. "Take it as it comes, Mr. Haworth. It won't last forever, even if it seems like it. Son of a gun--said the wrong thing again, didn't I!" H.D. screamed, "Appeal! Appeal the case!" Garry sadly shook his head. "'There is no known deterrent from harmfully selfish action except fear of punishment. Nor can there be a healthy mind as long as there exists a debt to conscience.'" The flyer was easing out into the night, toward that red star of evil. "You say Mars isn't called Mars any more?" he called hoarsely, pressing desperately against the hard crystal. "No," Garry called softly and the quiet words were still very clear. "Now they call it Hell."