On the bridge the captain and his executive officer were chatting desultorily. Their eyes scanned the waters constantly while they talked, a sea-borne custom that long antedated the ship's bristling radar screens. "If we put in anywhere along the Solomons," the captain said, "I'll bet we'll see the natives still wearing and using the old equipment--from forty-five." "Yeah," grinned the exec. "They all say it was the Navy that ruined the Pacific." "Huh," snorted the other. "We went ashore--but the Army stayed ashore. Whatever you find will be Government Issue." The exec yawned. "Cripes, what a boring tour. I'd give my last bottle for just one sight of a good old Nip periscope." "Or a Kamikaze," growled the captain sarcastically. A radioman stepped out on the bridge, saluted, and handed the captain a flimsy. He read it, and frowned at the exec. "Lead ship says we're about to pass over a submerged object--a derelict of some sort. The chief says to blast it. Menace to navigation and so forth." The exec stepped to the squawk-box, and flicked the switch. "Attention. Attention. Y-gun crew report to stations--on the double. Y-gun--on deck." As he stood there, waiting for the CPO commanding that detail to acknowledge and request orders, he let out a yawn, a prodigious mid-afternoon yawn that threatened to split his head. * * * * * The two Alarians floated motionless in the water of their lifeboat, each immersed in his own thoughts. Shaking off his lethargy, Ekrado began to make a routine check of the condition of the heat ray cannon. Mechanically, he went over the apparatus, his mind still on their problem. The cannon was, of course, in perfect condition. "Clackety-clack-clack-clack," chattered the Konald detector. "Metal!" exclaimed Ekrado in surprise. "Large masses of it," echoed Ronaro. "Here in the surface waters. That can only mean...." "Intelligent life," the two minds chorused. High at the top of the vision screen appeared the bottom of a long narrow metal hull. It was unmistakably a metal ship, the work of intelligent minds, an indication of culture and civilization. "Only one of us will try to communicate this time," directed Ekrado. "You do it, Ronaro." This contact was entirely different. Ronaro's questing mind at once encountered intelligence. There was purpose there, not the mindless urges of hunger and fear that they had met before, but rational purpose backed by planning. But there was something else Ronaro sensed beneath the surface, something alien. "Ekrado!" he exclaimed, shocked. "These creatures are air breathers!" "Air breathers!" snorted the Captain. "Have you drifted into fantasy Ronaro? Establish contact with them." "I can't," Ronaro replied after a few moments of intense concentration. "Their minds cannot receive our thought impulses." "We've got to attract their attention. After they have seen us we'll be able to work out some method of communication."