"We are not fools. That phase of it has been well-planned. You will apply for a three-day vacation and meet our ship at a location in Yellowstone National Park. Your wife is already on her way to our planet. You will follow her in a second ship--you and the plans. After the annihilation of your world is accomplished, you will not find us ungrateful. You will both be sent to Venus to live out the rest of your lives in ease." "I have only your word for that." "It is enough." And Kendall knew of course, that it was. The Centaurians would keep their word, mainly because breaking it after they had obtained their objective would gain them nothing. They would keep their word because their propaganda department would insist. "And now," the Centaurian said, "I have stayed on this circuit long enough. Soon it will cause suspicion. A note will be delivered to you giving the time and place of our meeting in Yellowstone." * * * * * Kendall finished out his hours. And this was not strange. No need to go out hunting Clare. A waste of energy to rush home looking for her. She would not be home. She was on her way to a far-distant and hostile planet where--unless he followed orders--she would scream out her life in agony unbearable to even contemplate. The Centaurian was right. Kendall had not the iron will to allow this even though a dozen planets were on the block. He worked like a man in a dream and then drove slowly from Plant Nine along ten miles of winding road to the residential section reserved for scientists. The house was dark. He went through the back door and stood alone in the kitchen. The dishes had been done. The place was spick and span. He knew the other rooms would be the same; beds made, floors swept. But Clare was gone. Numbly, he wondered how they had accomplished it. He could have found out; checked at the gate and probably discovered by what ruse they had lured Clare out. No doubt forgery was involved; cleverly faked phone calls perhaps; even accomplished actors masquerading as guards or officials. But it didn't matter really. Not now. Finding out would only satisfy curiosity. No end would be served. Kendall went into the living room and sat down in the dark and lit a cigarette. Two hours later, the tray beside him was filled with butts and his decision had been made. They would get their prints. Clare must not suffer. He got up and went into the bedroom and found the tiny camera under Clare's pillow.... He filled out a requisition the next morning and took it to his Section Chief, the kindly gray-haired senior scientist who was responsible for the work of twenty-five juniors. He read the requisition and his eyes widened a trifle. "Hmmm. The stats on the _Willy Seven_ basic equations? I thought you were working on _Nike Twelve_, Kendall." "I am sir. But I've got a hunch the _Willy_ coordinates might get me over a nasty little hump. There _is_ a similarity."