probably isn't. We'll know as soon as we get it in the
lab. Chances are, though, that they have caught up with us again. After
all, that was to be expected--anything that science can synthesize,
science can analyze; and whatever the morals and ethics of the pirates
may be, they have got brains."

"And you haven't been able to devise anything better?"

"Variations only, which wouldn't take much time to solve. Fundamentally,
the present meteor is the best we know."

"Got anybody you would like to put on it, immediately?"

"Of course. One of the new boys will be perfect for the job, I think.
Name of Bergenholm. Quite a character. Brilliant, erratic, flashes of
sheer genius that he can't explain, even to us. I'll put him on it right
away."

"Thanks a lot. And now, Norma, please keep everybody off my neck that
you can. I want to think."

And think he did; keen eyes clouded, staring unseeingly at the papers
littering his desk. Triplanetary needed a symbol--a something--which
would identify a Service man anywhere, at any time, under any
circumstances, without doubt or question ... something that could not be
counterfeited or imitated, to say nothing of being duplicated ...
something that no scientist not of Triplanetary Service could _possibly_
imitate ... better yet, something that no one not of Triplanetary could
even wear....

Samms grinned fleetingly at that thought. A tall order one calling for a
_deus ex machina_ with a vengeance.... But damn it, there ought to be
_some_ way to....

"Excuse me, sir." His secretary's voice, usually so calm and cool,
trembled as she broke in on his thinking. "Commissioner Kinnison is
calling. Something terrible is going on again, out toward Orion. Here he
is," and there appeared upon Samms' screen the face of the Commissioner
of Public Safety, the commander-in-chief of Triplanetary's every armed
force; whether of land or of water, of air or of empty space.

"They've come back, Virgil!" The Commissioner rapped out without
preliminary or greeting. "Four vessels gone--a freighter and a passenger
liner, with her escort of two heavy cruisers. All in Sector M, Dx about
151. I have ordered all traffic out of space for the duration of the
emergency, and since even our warships seem useless, every ship is
making for the nearest dock at maximum. How about that new flyer of
yours--got anything that will do us any good?" No one beyond the
"Hill's" shielding screens knew that the _Boise_ ha