an unemptied disposal tube in a corner. Five minutes
later he reappeared on the platform outside of the airlock. Fifteen
minutes later he was delivered in a military staff car to the
conference room he had left barely two hours before.

Everyone was transfigured by his reappearance. Beemish looked
especially radiant as Keeter sat down at the table, pulled the
transistor from his pocket, and stated his business quickly.

"Look, it's probably no use asking, but I need a repair part for that
damned computor. Something's wrong with the automatic repair circuits,
and I don't feel like staying up all night to find the trouble." He
held the transistor toward them at arm's length. "Frankly, I don't
think you'll have much luck reproducing it, but I thought I'd ask
anyway--"

"May I see it?" asked Beemish, leaning forward and eagerly stretching
out a hand.

Keeter seemed to hesitate for a minute, then shrugged his shoulders and
dropped the transistor into the general's sweating palm.

Three persons got up from the table and crowded around Beemish, trying
to get a look at the alien product.

"Well," said Keeter. "What do you think? If it's too far advanced for
you, don't hesitate to say so. I'll just get back to the ship and start
working."

"Not at all, not at all," said a small, white haired man who had
finally wrested the transistor from Beemish. He squinted at the thing
through a pocket magnifier. "We'll have it for you by morning, I'm
quite sure."

"I'm not quite so sure," said Keeter, yawning, "but I need the sleep
anyway. See you here at eight in the morning." He yawned again, got up
from the table and walked out once more through the door.

When Keeter reappeared in the morning, Beemish ushered him into the
conference room with a hearty clap on the back. When everyone was
seated, he pulled a small jewel box from a pocket and handed it
ceremoniously to Keeter.

"I already ate breakfast," said Keeter, setting the box on the table.

"No, no, no," groaned Beemish. "That's not food--open it up, man!"

Keeter lifted the box to eye level, squinted at it suspiciously for a
moment, then sniffed it. "You're sure--"

"Yes, yes," shouted a dozen impatient voices, "open it, open it up!"

Keeter shrugged and opened the box. Twelve tiny, identical transistors
lay gleaming on a bed of black velvet.

"Well?" said Beemish, eagerly.

"Hm-m," answered Keeter.

"What do you mean, hm-m," asked Beemish nervously.

"I me