"A man," said the Varannian reprovingly, "should have respect for women." She yanked the rifle from him and hit him in the stomach with the butt. He flew across the plaza, retching, rolled to one elbow, and snatched at his sidearm. Dyann leaped, landing on his face with a crunch of bone and a small explosion of blood and teeth. She turned back, hefting the rifle appreciatively. The Earthlings on Varann had been regrettably stingy about giving modern weapons to the natives. Assorted people, including Hamand, fled in all directions as she entered the doorway. Down a long hall, peering into the rooms on either side, up a staircase--another sentry before a frosted-glass door gaped at her. She smiled reassuringly, moved close to him, and got her hands on his throat. Shortly thereafter she had his rifle and revolver. Loud voices drifted through the door and Dyann, who was not at all stupid, listened with interest. One was--yes, that was Urushkidan himself, bubbling like an indignant teakettle. "I will not, sir, do you hear me? I will not. And I demand a return passage from tis foul satellite at once!" "Come now, Dr. Urushkidan, be reasonable." Was that the voice of Roshevsky-Feldkamp? "After all, can you complain of your treatment? You have Mars-conditioned quarters, servants, high pay, every consideration." "I came here to lecture and complete my mathematical research. Now I find you habe arranged no lectures for me and expect me to--to superbise an--an _engineering_ project! As if--as if I were a mere--empiricist!" "But Dr. Urushkidan--after all, science advances by checking its theory against the facts. If with your help we create the first faster-than-light ship, it will be a triumphant confirmation of--" "My teories need no confirmation. Tey are a debelopment of certain relatibity postulates, a piece of pure matematics in all its elegance and beauty. If tey agree or disagree wit te facts, tat is of no interest to any proper natibe of Uttu. Te matematics is enough, and I will habe noting to do wit applied physics. And furtermore--" The squeaky voice rose even higher--"you want only te military applications, you would habe me stoop to such bulgarity. You do not appreciate me, and I am going back to Uttu!" "I am afraid," said the man slowly, "that that is impossible." Dyann entered. "Are they annoyin you?" she asked. * * * * * Urushkidan whirled about. The room was thick with the fumes of his pipe, and one of the two Jovians with him--a bald man in the black uniform of the secret police--was holding a handkerchief to his nose. The other one was Roshevsky-Feldkamp, who started to his feet with an oath and grabbed for his revolver. Dyann held her own stolen gun on his midriff. "No," she said. "What are you doing here?" gasped the officer. "Vere is Ray Ballantyne?" "Get out! Guards--"