"Mostly a mess of secondary damage, but it is pretty widespread. Everything in the place caught hell, including the typewriter in the office, which fell off the desk. Got a space-warp generator?" "Yup, but can you repair yours?" "I think so." "Then take a stab at it. I've only got three replacements, and there may be more than that blown out completely. All the results aren't in yet." "O.K., and we'll make repair right up to the point where we need the generator anyway, whether we can repair ours or not. Then if we need it, all we have to do is to hand it in and hook it up." "Fine, Pete. Now look, 6 doesn't answer. Send Timkins out there with Joyce. Must be pretty bad." "O.K., boss. We're on our way." * * * * * At Tommy's call, McBride went to the big air lock and the flitter took off for 6. As they went, McBride operated the generator that reversed their charge so that they could land on 6 without difficulty. Halfway across the lens, the telephone in the flitter rang, and McBride dropped the generator controls and picked up the instrument. "John," came the voice, "this is Hastings, on 10. A space-ship just came limping into the station, falling free. We slung out a line and caught it. We cut her open and found the dame that was the cause of all this. What shall I do now?" "My better instincts say to slug her. The stuff I was taught at my mother's knee says to spare the violence. Keep her there until I get finished at 6." "She insists on going to the main office." "Y'might let her," said McBride thoughtfully, his voice slightly sour with distaste. "Gosh, boss, you can't do that." "I know. Well, she can't get out of the lock without your assistance. Unless I'm mistaken, all of you are far too busy to bother with a headstrong female." The phone was silent for a few seconds, and the sounds of a light scuffle came over the line. Then a cool contralto came. "I'm Sandra Drake," it said with a world of impertinence. "No man is going to tell me where I can't go!" "Sister," snapped McBride, "you keep that up and we'll jolly well tell you where you _can_ go!" McBride hung up and redoubled his efforts on the charge-reversal generator. "Women," he snarled, twisting the generator controls as though he had the Drake woman by the throat. Ten minutes before they landed at 6, McBride picked up the phone and called 1. He spoke to his apartment. "Hello Enid," he said. "John! What's all the shouting about?" "La Drake tried to run her crate through the lens. She broke it." "Who's la Drake?" "Some dame. Look, Enid, what do you do to handle a headstrong female? Besides giving her enough rope to commit self-destruction?" "What's her purpose in life?" asked Enid McBride. "Proving that men are inferior animals." "I won't answer that one," chuckled McBride's wife. "Look, John, where is this man-killer?" "At 10." "That's negative, isn't it?" "Bright woman, yes," laughed McBride.