All these things flowed into robot analyzers and synthesizers, came out and were fed back in again, directed by the frantic brain of Romm Parmay.
After twelve days, the big-wigs of Operation Interstellar were beginning to ask: "What in hell is Parmay driving at?"
And when Parmay was asked, all he would say was: "I'm not sure yet. I'm stranded here on Therbis until the fleet gets here, and I want to get back to Earth. I can't give you any answers 'til then."
Kerrman was on Earth, and he wasn't entirely unaware of what Parmay was working on. Kerrman, in fact, knew bloody well what it was. But he kept his mouth shut and applied a few ideas of his own.
Finally, word came that Parmay was on his way back from Therbis.
When he landed, the Directors of Earth were waiting for him, and two days later he was ready to appear before the assembled Directorate.
The fourteen Directors waited quietly for him to speak. The vast silence that filled the room seemed almost a little too big for it, as though even a slight noise would not be heard if it were to be made. Pol Enson, the Speaker, looked at the others, then at Parmay.
"Okay, Romm; blaze away. I'm not a psych man, and I don't quite understand what you're driving at, but I hope you're right."
"I think I am," Parmay answered. "I've checked into it from every conceivable angle, and everything fits—there isn't one single unexplainable factor.
"We contacted the ship of the aliens. It went into hypersee. Then it attacked. Point one.