"Just a second. Norma, put Redmond on here with us.... Listen, Harry. Now, Fletcher, did you see that fake meteor yourself? Touch it?"
"Both. In fact, I've still got it. One of the runners, pretending to be a Service man, flashed it on me. It's really good, too, Chief. Even now, I can't tell it from my own except that mine is in my pocket. Shall I send it in?"
"By all means; to Dr. H.D. Redmond, Head of Research. Keep on slugging, Sid—goodbye. Now, Harry, what do you think? It could be one of our own, you know."
"Could be, but probably isn't. We'll know as soon as we get it in the lab. Chances are, though, that they have caught up with us again. After all, that was to be expected—anything that science can synthesize, science can analyze; and whatever the morals and ethics of the pirates may be, they have got brains."
"And you haven't been able to devise anything better?"
"Variations only, which wouldn't take much time to solve. Fundamentally, the present meteor is the best we know."
"Got anybody you would like to put on it, immediately?"
"Of course. One of the new boys will be perfect for the job, I think. Name of Bergenholm. Quite a character. Brilliant, erratic, flashes of sheer genius that he can't explain, even to us. I'll put him on it right away."
"Thanks a lot. And now, Norma, please keep everybody off my neck that you can. I want to think."
And think he did; keen eyes clouded, staring unseeingly at the papers littering his desk. Triplanetary needed a symbol—a something—which would identify a Service man anywhere, at any time, under any circumstances, without doubt or question ... something that could not be counterfeited or imitated, to say nothing of being duplicated ... something that no scientist not of Triplanetary Service could possibly imitate ... better yet, something that no one not of Triplanetary could even wear....