"That I admit. But to play such a prank—"
"No prank, Greggor. This was a very convincing demonstration. How can you possibly classify such an epoch-making act as a prank? It is deplorable that your pride and joy should be thus decorated by a mere ... he was but Senior Executive Maynard at the time ... destroyer, a spacecraft one tenth the tonnage of the Orionad. But I insist that it does not detract from the pride of the Orionad to have been bested by such a weapon."
"I feel as though I've been made a fool of."
"Ridiculous! It is not an admission of defeat to acknowledge a minor defeat at the hands of a man who is responsible for making Pluto inhabitable. After all, Greggor, Maynard is one in fifty billion."
Greggor smiled wryly. "When you put it that way, I must admit," he said. "Any man who can bring the means of warming a planet to human climates certainly must be capable of decorating the Orionad. Maybe I should grow angry again; why should such a genius stoop to tamper with my ship?"
"It was available and the best thing we have to boot."
Maynard interrupted. "Surely you would not believe me capable of bringing ridicule upon you, Marshal Greggor. It was but a splendid opportunity to demonstrate what could have been done to an enemy with a torpedo. What if I had been a Martian?"
"I agree," said Greggor. Then he laughed uproariously. "We'll pink Patrol Marshal Inkland with the idea," he said. "Tell him that his ship was destroyed in space by a real destroyer; that he must have been asleep. Roast him good, and see what happens. Here she comes—and Maynard, that splotch of red paint sticks out like a miniature sun. What a mal-beautiful job of decoration."
The Orionad landed, and Inkland came across the sand toward the little group as soon as he saw who it was. He shook hands all around and smiled until Greggor told him of the decoration.
Inkland turned red and blustered. "Nothing was within detector range of me!" he insisted.