Okay, big shots, one of your little toy soldiers is ready for the psych treatment, he thought sourly as he dropped the plastic tape onto the player and positioned the governor electrodes over his bed. I'd like to have the guy by the throat who invented this gadget, he muttered. The tape only played when the electrodes picked up radiation from the brain telling that the subject was asleep; then the information became a part of his subconscious only. If he awoke, the player simply stopped until he went back to sleep. The results were frequently amazing. Blundering old space veterans had been converted overnight into smooth diplomats for negotiating with the sensitive Venusians. Timid souls had been fired up to brave the risks of delicate landings on tiny asteroids. And now it was his turn. What kind of pep talk did the psychology brain trust think he needed? Afraid he'd make a fool of himself in front of his crew? He switched on the player savagely and set the volume level to suit a light sleeper; then he slit open the envelope and read the few imprinted lines. "CAPTAIN GRIMES, SPACESHIP VULCAN, EN ROUTE PRIMUS. REVIEW OF ORDERS. ESTABLISH COMMUNICATIONS WITH PRIMUS CITIES NEPHELE, ESTIVAL. DETERMINE CAUSE OF DEATHS OF PREVIOUS EXPLORERS. INVESTIGATE EXHAUSTIVELY, RUTHLESSLY. COMPLETE EXPLANATION ABSOLUTELY IMPERATIVE. YOUR SUCCESS MAY FORESTALL EXPEDITIONARY FORCE. UNITED NATIONS SERVICE HEADQUARTERS, PARIS." He pushed the cold-blooded message through a discard slot and turned down the bed clothes. He hopped between the sheets and took a deep breath. Modern science was wonderful, he mused, but it hadn't yet found a substitute for a pair of clean sheets. * * * * * Exactly seven hours later Captain Grimes stepped into the pilot's room and nodded seriously at the men gathered about the radio receiver. Aside from the operator there was Dr. Keith Johnson, the chief medical officer; Kai-Ling, the soft spoken pilot; and Engineer Bill Manson. "We're still dark, sir," the radio operator explained. "Just listening to land transmissions." Grimes noted the red light in the center of the ceiling, indicating that the service recorder was operating. "What's the time to go?" he asked Manson. "Half hour, sir," the engineer said, glancing at the radar scope for verification. "Cruise between Nephele and Estival at a hundred thousand," Grimes told the pilot. The man was still wearing part of his traditional garments and part of his service uniform. Grimes made signs at him, at the same time pointing to the red light. The pilot grinned broadly and began to shed the Oriental half of his garb on the spot. "All right, Johnny," Grimes addressed the radio operator. "I want to talk with the Mayor of Estival and I don't want to be by-passed by any army or air force official or anybody else."