"So is ours!" snapped a voice from the speaker above the panel.

"Are we falling?"

"No, it's the hypersee that's out. The planetary drive is perfect. The hypersee is burned all to hell. No breach in the hull."

"Get us orbited to Therbis," Tallen ordered. "What damage to the alien ship?"

Fire Control answered. "The ionic disruptor didn't do as much damage as we thought. We weakened their hull, but we didn't open it."

"Okay," Tallen said, "keep an eye on the 'scope. Compute the orbit of the ship and watch it. If it shifts off the computed fall path, we'll hit it again."

Parmay grabbed Tallen's shoulder.

"Did all this get on tape?"

"Sure. Why?"

Parmay pushed Tallen aside and headed for the communicator.

The news hit Earth like a slug in the teeth. For the second time in half a millennium the human race was brought face to face with the fact that it was not the only intelligence in the galaxy, much less in the whole universe.

The instant the news came, a fleet of armed ships was given its orders, and within six hours they were squirting through hyperspace toward Therbis.

Meanwhile, the Psychological Corps was in a dither. Parmay was shooting data to them from Therbis and asking, in return, for all kinds of seemingly irrelevant information. Chemists were asked questions about organic oxidation-reduction equations; physicists were asked for data on propagation of electromagnetic waves in distorted spaces and warped fields; biologists supplied facts about—of all things—deep sea fish.

All these things flowed into robot analyzers and synthesizers, came out and were fed back in again, directed by the frantic brain of Romm Parmay.

After twelve days, the big-wigs of Operation Interstellar were beginning to ask: "What in hell is Parmay driving at?"

And when Parmay was asked, all he would say was: "I'm not sure yet. I'm stranded here on 

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