When the aides came to clean up Guy's office, they found him inspecting the little instrument that fitted head and waistline of the alien creature. It was off, now, and partly disassembled upon the patrol marshal's desk.
Williamson came at Maynard's call and raised an eyebrow at Maynard's action.
"I had to do something," said Guy in a flat voice. "I couldn't just sit here and contemplate those bodies."
"I know," said Ben softly. "Anything I can do?"
"Yes. Set up a barrier. Focus the screen's output on the center of Mephisto. And then maintain that barrier for your life—and it will be just that. It will be for your very life, for it will be against the lives of all Mephistans!"
"Good!" glowed Williamson. "That'll do it!"
"It may take months," said Maynard. "But from now on we're fighting a winning battle."
"What is that thing you're tinkering with?"
"A goldberg that was on the creature's body. Interesting thing, too. Look, Ben, this thing may have been a robot, but their psychology is such that they hate us completely. Issue orders that no more prisoners are to be taken. Extermination is the only way; their strength is such that three of them could wipe out a regiment. If we don't exterminate them, they'll exterminate us, and they can do it if we permit them one chance. We'll not give them that chance. Have the technicians figure out the estimated temperature rise of Mephisto with a full screen and full output directed at the center of the planet. I'd like to know when this affair can be considered over."
"Check. I'll do it, Guy. What you need is a rest."