"A metal. Atomic number 50, a white metal used as an alloy component of primitive metallic cultures," I said. "It shouldn't be too hard to get." I didn't realize how hard it was to describe what I wanted. I wasn't getting through, and it bothered me. The culture barrier was almost as bad as though we couldn't contact mind to mind. "I think you mean tin," he said. I grasped the concept and it seemed right. "Bring me some and I will run tests," I said. "And what do I get in return?" * * * * * I thought quickly. If he wanted to bargain perhaps we could reach an agreement. It's always better to have a cooperative proxy. They don't cause nearly the trouble in management. And I had other things to do than monitor natives. There was a great deal of repair work to be done on the ship before she would fly again. The subspace radio power bank had to be rebuilt and the circuits should be checked. "I can give you knowledge that you wouldn't have for decades--maybe centuries," I said. "And I can adjust your bodies for a longer and happier life." I shot a glance at Ven still immersed in her helmet. "In fact, I have made a few adjustments already." "So I noticed," Donald thought dryly. "Although whether they're an improvement or not I couldn't say. But did you have to go to all this trouble?" "Think of us--and discount the fact that you carried us because our bodies are too weak for your heavy world." I said. "Did you like us?" "No," he said. "You repelled me. I disliked you on sight, more than I can say." "The emotion is mutual," I said. "Yet I can endure you. But with your glandular outlook you could only think of destroying us." "That is true. But you treated us like animals." "You are animals," I said logically. "We are masters of this world. We recognize no higher authority. We are free people--not slaves. And unless we are treated as free agents you will get no cooperation from us." "I can force you to do as I wish," I said. "Prove it!" I took over. And while Donald watched with helpless horror his hand picked up a knife and drew it across his arm. The keen edge split the tissues neatly and the blood flowed. "Don! What are you doing!" Edith screamed and then stiffened as Ven took control. "Observe," I said as I released control. "Why, you--" Donald began--and then continued in a tone of wonder. "Why--the cut's closing! There's no more blood--It's gone!" "It's just one of the improvements I mentioned," I said smugly. "You also had a patch of scar tissue on your left lung and infected kidneys. You do not have them now. Had you not met us you would have been dead within five of your years." * * * * * He was shaken. I could feel it. "I do have Bright's disease," he said thoughtfully. "You had it," I corrected.