whichever noun you chose, you had to prefix it with the adjective "gigantic," for the ventral hatch alone, which had just yawned open, was large enough to accommodate the Sugardale Methodist Church.

In the command-post tent, the general, as yet unaware of the UFO's presence, was giving the countdown in an anguished voice. "Two—"

In the valley, the two VEMs were trying vainly to extricate themselves from a huge metallic net that had dropped over them.

"One—"

On the lip of the valley, Dexter Foote was grappling with an insight.

"Zero—"

Pfft!...

"It wasn't a dud after all," General Longcombe said. "They cancelled out the chain-reaction with some kind of a ray. I wonder...." He shook his head wistfully. "What a weapon, though."

He and Colonel Mortby and the tech were standing by the chrome-stripped carcass of the Cadillac. Dexter and Jeremiah had just come up. "My theory turned out to be a little bit off-center," Dexter said. "You see, I overlooked the possibility that our children aren't necessarily the only galactic small fry who run away from home and get themselves in Dutch. My birthday-cake analogy still holds true, but I would have done better to have compared our late-model automobiles to appetizing candy bars, or Easter baskets filled with jelly beans and chocolate chickens."

The general regarded him blankly. "I'm afraid I don't follow you at all, Mr. Foote."

"Did you ever turn a pair of hungry kids loose in a candy store, sir?"

Understanding came into General Longcombe's eyes then, and he turned and gazed sadly at his chromeless Cadillac. "I wonder if they have castor oil on Planet X," he said.

"I bet they have its equivalent," grinned Dexter Foote.

 Prev. P 11/11