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judiciously for long moments, then: “I presume you wish to hear nothing about the missing strawberries?
    “Nothing,” agreed the other.
    “Then,” came Meichrobe’s rasping thought, “we must consider the pernicious activities of the Tellurian Lensman whose workings are not, and have not been, ascribed to Star A Star.
    “The activities and behavior of all members of the never-to-be-sufficiently-damned Galactic Patrol have, as you know, been subjected to rigid statistical analysis. Our computers have come to the conclusion that, with a probability of point oh oh one, the Lensman known as Gimble Ginnison either is or is not the agent whom we seek.”
    “A cogent report indeed,” Meichfrite complimented. “Next, the report of Meichron, Third of this Council.”
    “As a psychologist,” Meichron replied, “I feel that there is an equal probability that the agent whom we seek is one whose physical makeup is akin to ours, rather than to that of the fire-blooded, oxygen-breathing Tellurians. Perhaps one of the immoral Palanians, who emmfoze in public.”
    “That, too, must be considered,” Meichfrite noted. “Now to Meichrotch, Fourth of the Meich...”
    And so it went, through member after member of that dark Council. How they arrived at any decision whatever is starkly unknowable to the human mind.

    On green, warm Tellus, many mega parsecs from the black cloud which enveloped the eternally and infernally frigid planet of the Meich, Lensman Gimble Ginnison, having been released from the hospital at Prime Base, was talking to Surgeon-Major Macy, who had just given him his final checkup.
    “How am I, Doc?” he asked respectfully, “QX for duty?”
    Well, you were in pretty bad shape when you came in,” the Lensman surgeon said thoughtfully. “We almost had to clone you to keep you around, son. Those Axlemen really shot you up.”
    “Check. But how am I now?”
    The older Lensman looked at the sheaf of charts, films, tapes, and reports on his desk. “Mmm. Your skeleton seems in good shape, but I wonder about the rest of you. The most beautiful nurses in the Service attended you during your convalescence, and you never made a pass-never even patted a fanny.”
    “Gosh,” Ginnison flushed hotly, “was I expected to?”
    “Not by me,” the older man said cryptically.
    “Well, am I QX for duty? I have to do a flit.”
    Surgeon-Major Macy handed Ginnison an envelope..”Take this to the Starboard Admiral’s office. He’ll let you know. Where are you flitting for?”
    “I’m not sure yet,” Ginnison said evasively, taking the envelope.
    “Right. Clear ether, Gimble.”
    “Clear ether, Macy .”
    True to an old tradition, these two friends never told each other anything.

    The Starboard Admiral slit open the envelope and took in its contents at a glance. “According to Macy, you’re fit for duty, son. Congratulations. And, in spite of everything, that was a right smart piece of work you did on Mulligans II.”
    Ginnison looked at the tips of his polished boots. “Gee whiz,” he said, blushing. Then, looking up: “If I’m fit for duty, sir, I’d like to make a request. That mess on Cadilax needs to be cleaned up. I’m ready to try it, sir, and I await your orders.”
    The Starboard Admiral looked up into the gray eyes of the young, handsome, broad-shouldered, lean, lithe, tough, hard, finely-trained, well-muscled, stubborn, powerful man who stood before him.
    “Gim,” he said firmly, “You have disobeyed every order I have ever given you. It always came out all right, so I can’t gripe, but, as of now, I’m getting out from under. I’ve talked to the Galactic Council, and they agree. We are giving you your Release.”
    The Release! The goal toward which every Lensman worked

    and so few attained! He was now an Unattached Lensman, responsible to no one and nothing save his own conscience. He was no longer merely a small cog in the mighty machine of the Galactic Patrol
    He was a Big