They told him. Joe began to explain it carefully, but the Chief broke in
with a barked and impatient description, and then Mike interrupted to
snap a correction. But by that time Brent's expression had changed with
astonishing suddenness.

"I see! I see!" he said excitedly. "All right! Have you got space suits
in your ship? We have them. So we'll go out and pelt the stars with
garbage. I think we'd better get at it right now, too. In under two
hours we'll be a fine target for more bombs, and it would be good to
start ahead of time."

Mike made a gesture and went floating out of the kitchen, air-swimming
to go get space suits from the ship. The grin on his small face
threatened to cut his throat. Joe asked, "Sanford's in command. How'll
he like this idea?"

Brent hesitated. "I'm afraid," he said regretfully, "he won't like it.
If you solve a problem he gave up, it will tear his present adjustment
to bits. He's gone psychotic. I think, though, that he'll allow it to be
tried while he swears at us for fools. He's most likely to react that
way if you suggest it."

"Then," agreed Joe, "I suggest it. Chief----"

The Chief raised a large brown hand.

"I got the program, Joe," he said. "We'll all get set."

And Joe went floating unhappily through passage-tubes to the control
room. He heard Sanford's voice, sardonic and mocking, as he reached the