ess some fool is playing a dumb joke."

"It's no joke--I hope." Another voice, crisp and authoritative, came in;
growing louder as its source approached the distant pickup. "Or somebody
will rot in jail for a hundred years."

"_Procyon One_ to Control Six," Deston said again. His voice was not
quite steady this time; both girls were crying openly and joyfully. "How
do you read me, Frenchy old horse?"

"It _is Procyon One_--the Runt himself--Hi, Babe!" the new voice roared,
then quieted to normal volume. "I read you eight and one. Survivors?"

"Five. Second Officer Jones, our wives, and Dr. Andrew Adams, a Fellow
of the College of Advanced Study. He's solely responsible for our being
here, so----"

"Skip that for now. In a lifecraft? No, after this long, it must be the
ship. Not navigable, of course?"

"Not in subspace, and only so-so in normal. The Chaytors are O. K., but
the whole Top is spun out and the rest of her won't hold air--air, hell!
She won't hold shipping crates! All the Wesleys are shot, and all the
Q-converters. Half the Grahams are leaking like sieves, and----"

"Skip that, too. Just a sec--I'll cut in the downstairs recorder. Now
start in at your last check and tell us what's happened since."

"It's a long story."

"Unwind it, Runt, I don't give a damn how long it is. Not a
full-detailed report, just hit the high spots--but don't leave out
anything really important."

"Wow!" Jones remarked, audibly. "Wottaman Frenchy! Like the ex-urbanite
said to the gardener: 'I don't want you to work hard--just take big
shovelfulls and lots of 'em per minute'."

"That's enough out of you, Herc my boy. You'll be next. Go ahead, Babe."

Deston went ahead, and spoke almost steadily for thirty minutes. He did
not mention the gangsters; nor any personal matters. Otherwise, his
report was accurate and complete. He had no idea that everything he
said was going out on an Earth-wide hookup; or that many other planets,
monitoring constantly all subspace channels, were hooking on. When he
was finally released Captain French said, with a chuckle:

"Off the air for a minute. You've no idea what an uproar this has
stirred up already. They let them have all your stuff, but we aren't
putting out a thing until some Brass gets out there and gets the real
story----"

"That _is_ the real story, damn it!"

"Oh, sure, and a very nice job, too, for an extemporaneous effort--if it
was. Semantics says, though, that in a coupl