"I _know_ he'll do it!" The chemist's voice was hard. "He won't take any active part--I'm not psychologist enough to know whether I could drive him that far, even drugged, against an unhypnotizable subconscious or not--but he'll be carrying something along that will enable me to do it, easily and safely. But that's about enough of this chin music--we'd better start doing something." * * * * * While Loring brought space clothing and weapons, and rummaged through the vessel in search of material suitable for the dummies' fabrication, the Fenachrone engineer worked rapidly at his task. And not only did he work rapidly, he worked skillfully and artistically as well. This artistry should not be surprising, for to such a mentality as must necessarily be possessed by the chief engineer of a first-line vessel of the Fenachrone, the faithful reproduction of anything capable of movement was not a question of art--it was merely an elementary matter of line, form, and mechanism. Cotton waste was molded into shape, reënforced, and wrapped in leather under pressure. To the bodies thus formed were attached the heads, cunningly constructed of masticated fiber, plastic, and wax. Tiny motors and many small pieces of apparatus were installed, and the completed effigies were dressed and armed. DuQuesne's keen eyes studied every detail of the startlingly lifelike, almost microscopically perfect, replicas of himself and his traveling companion. "A good job," he commented briefly. "Good?" exclaimed Loring. "It's perfect! Why, that dummy would fool my own wife, if I had one--it almost fools me!" "At least, they're good enough to pass a more critical test than any they are apt to get during this coming incident." Satisfied, DuQuesne turned from his scrutiny of the dummies and went to the closet in which had been stored the space suit of the captive. To the inside of its front protector flap he attached a small and inconspicuous flat-sided case. He then measured carefully, with a filar micrometer, the apparent diameter of the planet now looming so large beneath them. "All right, Doll; our time's getting short. Break out our suits and test them, will you, while I give the big boy his final instructions?" Rapidly those commands flowed over the wires of the mechanical educator, from DuQuesne's hard, keen brain into the now-docile mind of the captive. The Earthly scientist explained to the Fenachrone, coldly, precisely, and in minute detail, exactly what he was to do and exactly what he was to say from the moment of encountering the detector screens of his native planet until after he had reported to his superior officers. Then the two Terrestrials donned their own armor of space and made their way into an adjoining room, a small armory in which were hung several similar suits and which was a veritable arsenal of weapons.