"No fear. They're smart. I had to play it as though the whole Oman race is no more important than a cigarette butt. The great big question, though, is whether I put it across or not." At that point a dozen people came in, all talking about the same subject. "Hi, Jarve," Karns said. "I _still_ say you ought to take up poker as a life work. Tiny, let's you and him sit down now and play a few hands." "_Mais non!_" de Vaux shook his head violently, shrugged his shoulders and threw both arms wide. "By the sacred name of a small blue cabbage, not me!" Karns laughed. "How did you have the guts to state so many things as facts? If you'd guessed wrong just once--" "I didn't." Hilton grinned. "Think back, Bill. The only thing I said as a fact was that we as a race are better than the Masters were, and that is obvious. Everything else was implication, logic, and bluff." "That's right, at that. And they _were_ neurotic and decadent. No question about that." "But listen, boss." This was Stella Wing. "About this mind-reading business. If Laro could read your mind, he'd know you were bluffing and ... Oh, that 'Omans can read only what Masters wish Omans to read', eh? But d'you think that applies to us?" "I'm sure it does, and I was thinking some pretty savage thoughts. And I want to caution all of you: whenever you're near any Oman, start thinking that you're beginning to agree with me that they're useless to us, and let them know it. Now get out on the job, all of you. Scat!" "Just a minute," Poynter said. "We're going to have to keep on using the Omans and their cars, aren't we?" "Of course. Just be superior and distant. They're on probation--we haven't decided yet what to do about them. Since that happens to be true, it'll be easy." * * * * * Hilton and Sandra went to their tiny office. There wasn't room to pace the floor, but Hilton tried to pace it anyway. "Now don't say again that you want to _do_ something," Sandra said, brightly. "Look what happened when you said that yesterday." "I've got a job, but I don't know enough to do it. The creche--there's probably only one on the planet. So I want you to help me think. The Masters were very sensitive to radiation. Right?" "Right. That city on Fuel Bin was kept deconned to zero, just in case some Master wanted to visit it." "And the Masters had to work in the creche whenever anything really new had to be put into the prototype brain." "I'd say so, yes." "So they had armor. Probably as much better than our radiation suits as the rest of their stuff is. Now. Did they or did they not have thought screens?" "Ouch! You think of the _damnedest_ things, chief." She caught her lower lip between her teeth and concentrated. "... I don't know. There are at least fifty vectors, all pointing in different directions." "I know it. The key one in my opinion is that the Masters gave 'em _both_ telepathy and speech."