In twenty-four hours Kinnison recovered from the effects of his debauch. He got his keys from Strongheart. He left the asteroid. He knew the mighty intellect with whom he had next to deal, he knew where that entity was to be found; but, sad to say, he had positively no idea at all as to what he was going to do or how he was going to do it.
Wherefore it was that a sense of relief tempered, with no small degree, the natural apprehension he felt upon receiving an insistent call from Port Admiral Haynes. Truly this must be something really extraordinary, for while during the long months of his service Kinnison had called the chief of staff scores of times, Haynes had never before lensed him.
"Kinnison! Haynes calling!" the message beat into his consciousness.
"Kinnison acknowledging Haynes, sir!" the Gray Lensman thought back.
"Am I interrupting anything important?"
"No, sir, not at all. I'm just doing a little flit."
"A situation has come up which we feel you should study, not only in person, but also without advance information or preconceived ideas. Is it at all possible for you to come into Prime Base immediately?"
"Yes, sir, eminently so. In fact, a little time right now might do me good in two ways—let me mull a job over, and let a nut mellow down to a point where maybe I can crack it. At your orders, sir!"
"Not orders, Kinnison!" the old man reprimanded him sharply. "No one gives unattached Lensmen orders. We request or suggest, but you are the sole judge as to where your greatest usefulness lies."