"Storm" Cloud, vortex blaster, went
out like the proverbial light.

Help came, of course; and on the double. The pilot was unconscious and
the flitter's door could not be opened from the outside, but those were
not insuperable obstacles. A plate, already loose, was sheared away; the
pilot was carefully lifted out of his prison and rushed to Base Hospital
in the "meat-can" already in attendance.

And later, in a private office of that hospital, the gray-clad Chief of
the Atomic Research Laboratory sat and waited--but not patiently.

"How is he, Lacy?" he demanded, as the Surgeon-General entered the room.
"He's going to live, isn't he?"

"Oh, yes, Phil--definitely yes," Lacy replied, briskly. "He has a good
skeleton, very good indeed. The burns are superficial and will yield
quite readily to treatment. The deeper, delayed effects of the radiation
to which he was exposed can be neutralized entirely effectively. Thus he
will not need even a Phillips's treatment for the replacement of damaged
parts, except possibly for a few torn muscles and so on."

"But he was smashed up pretty badly, wasn't he? I know that he had a
broken arm and a broken leg, at least."

"Simple fractures only--entirely negligible." Lacy waved aside with an
airy gesture such small ills as broken bones. "He'll be out in a few
weeks."

"How soon can I see him?" the Lensman-physicist asked. "There are some
important things to take up with him, and I've got a personal message
for him that I must give him as soon as possible."

Lacy pursued his lips. Then:

"You may see him now," he decided. "He is conscious, and strong enough.
Not too long, though, Phil--fifteen minutes at most."

"QX, and thanks," and a nurse led the visiting Lensman to Cloud's
bedside.

"Hi, Stupe!" he boomed, cheerfully. "'Stupe' being short for stupendous,
not 'stupid'."

"Hi, Chief. Glad to see somebody. Sit down."

"You're the most-wanted man in the Galaxy," the visitor informed the
invalid, "not excepting even Kimball Kinnison. Look at this spool of
tape, and it's only the first one. I brought it along for you to read at
your leisure. As soon as any planet finds out that we've got a
sure-enough vortex-blower-outer, an expert who can really call his
shots--and the news travels mighty fast--that planet sends in a
double-urgent, Class A-Prime demand for first call upon your services.

"Sirius IV got in first by a whisker, it seems, but Aldebaran II was so
close a second