s they had been expecting. As
soon as the story had been told, and while Brandon was absorbed in the
scientific addenda of Stevens, Westfall thoughtfully called up Newton,
Nadia's father.

"Nadia is alive, free, safe, well, and happy," he shot out without
preliminary or greeting, as soon as the now lined features of the
director showed upon the communicator screen, and the careworn
countenance smoothed magically into the keen face of the fighting Newton
of old, as Westfall recounted rapidly the tale of the castaways.

"They apparently have not suffered in any way," he concluded. "All that
Stevens wants is some cigarettes, and your daughter's needs, while
somewhat more numerous than his, seem to be only clothes, powder,
perfume, and candy. Therefore we need not worry about them. The fate of
the others is still unknown, but there seems to be a slight possibility
that some of them may yet be rescued. You may release as much or as
little of this story as may seem desirable. Stevens is still sending
data of a highly technical nature. We shall arrive there at 21:32 next
Tuesday."

* * * * *

In due time the message from Ganymede ended and Brandon, with many pages
of his notebook crammed with figures and equations, snapped off the
power of the receiver and turned to his bench. Gone was the storming,
impetuous rebel; his body was ruled solely by the precise and insatiable
brain of the research scientist.

"He's great, that kid Perce! When I see him, I'm going to kiss him
on both cheeks. He's got enough dope on them to hang them higher than
Franklin's kite, and we'll nail those jaspers to the cross or I'm a
polyp! He's crazier than a loon in most of his hunches, but he's filled
four of our biggest gaps. There is such a thing, as a ray-screen, you
kill-joy, and there are also lifting or tractor rays--two things I've
been trying to dope out and that you've been giving me the Bronx cheer
on. The Titanians have had a tractor ray for ages--he sent me complete
dope on it--and the Jovians have got them both. We'll have them in three
days, and it ought to be fairly simple to dope out the opposite of a
tractor, too--a pusher or presser beam. Say, round up the gang, will
you, while I'm licking some of this stuff into shape for you to tear
apart? Where are Venus and Mars? Um ... m ... m. Tell Alcantro and
Fedanzo to come over here pronto--give 'em a special if necessary. We'll
pick up Dol Kenor and Pyra