“I’m sorry, Storm, believe me. I don’t think I was supposed to tell you—in fact, I know very well I wasn’t—but I’ve simply got to. It isn’t fair not to; besides, I’ve thought all along that Lensman Strong was wrong—that we’d go faster and farther if you knew than if you didn’t.” “Oh—_that’s_ what Phil was holding out on me back there? I thought there was something fishy, but couldn’t spot it.” “I was sure you did. So was Phil. You told me what the Tomingans call telepaths—snoopers? I _like_ that word; it’s so beautifully appropriate. Well, I’m snooping all the time. Not only while we’re working, as you thought, but _all_ the time, especially when you’re relaxed and . . . and off-guard, so to speak. I’ve been doing it ever since I first met you.” Cloud blushed again. “So you knew exactly what I was thinking just then? You gave me a remarkably poor play-back.” “The portrait was much too flattering. But we’ll skip that. Part of my job is to make a telepath out of you, so that you can show me with your mind—it can’t be done in words or symbols—what it is that makes a mathematical prodigy tick.” “How are you figuring on going about it?” “I don’t know—yet.” “Phil tried, and so did a couple of Gray Lensmen, and I wasn’t holding back a thing . . . oh, he emphasized that you’re a _self-made_ telepath. A different angle of approach? How did you operate on yourself?” “I don’t know that, either; but I hope to find out through you. I read, and studied, and tried, and all of a sudden—bang!—there it was. But words are useless; I’m coming into your mind. Now watch me closely, concentrate: _really_ concentrate, as hard as you possibly can. Ready? It goes like this . . . did you get it?” “No. I couldn’t follow the details—it seemed like an instantaneous transition. Didn’t you have more to begin with than I’ve got?” “I don’t think so . . . pretty sure I didn’t. I could receive—I think it’s impossible for anyone to become a telepath who can’t—but I couldn’t send a lick. My psi rating was a flat zero zero zero. Now try it again. Take a good, solid grip on a thought and _throw_ it at me.” “QX. I’ll try.” Cloud’s forehead furrowed, his muscles tensed in effort. “Since you already know I’ve been wondering why you never married—why? Standards too high?” “You might call it that.” It was the woman’s turn to blush, but her thought was clear and steady. Cloud was working with her better than he had ever worked with either Luda or Nadine. “Since the days of my teen-age crushes on tri-di idols I simply haven’t been able to develop any interest in a man who didn’t have as much of a brain as I have, and the only such I met were either already married or didn’t have anything _except_ a brain—which wouldn’t do, either, of course.”