"Do you mean to tell me--" Redman began. And then a peculiar smile crossed his face, a light of dawning comprehension. "Why no," he said, "why should you be telepathic--why should you? And to think I kept hiding--" he broke off and looked at me with a superior look a man gives his dog. Affectionate but pitying. "No wonder there were no psych fields protecting that dice game--and I thought--" he started to laugh. * * * * * And I knew then why the Patrol had sealed Earth off. Mutated by radiation, speeded up in their evolution by the effects of the Blowup, Earthmen were as far ahead of us mentally as we were ahead of them technologically. To let these telepaths, these telekinetics--and God knows what else--loose on the Galaxy would be like turning a bunch of hungry kelats loose in a herd of fat sloats. My head buzzed like it was filled with a hive of bees. For the first time in years I stopped thinking of the main chance. So help me, I was feeling _noble_! "Just take it easy, Cyril," Redman said. "Don't get any bright ideas." Bright ideas! Ha! I should be getting bright ideas with a character who could read me like a book. What I needed was something else. "If you cooperate," Redman said, "you'll be fixed for life." "You're not kidding," I said. "I'd be fixed all right. The Patrol'd hound me all the way to Andromeda if I helped you. And don't think they wouldn't find out. While we can't read minds, we can tell when a man's lying." "Have you ever heard of Fort Knox?" Redman asked. Fort Knox--Fort Knox--_fourknocks_! the thought staggered me. "The gold I had came from there," Redman said. Fourknocks! Sure, I'd heard of it. What citizen hadn't? They still tell stories of that fabulous hoard of gold. Tons of it buried on Earth waiting for someone with guts enough to go in and find it. "All your ship will hold," Redman said. "After we analyze its principles." Five tons of gold! Six million munits! So much money! It staggered me. I'd never dreamed of that much money. Redman was right. I _would_ kick my mother's teeth out if the price was right. And the price--I jumped convulsively. My arm brushed the control board, kicking off the negative inertia and slapping the axial correction jets. The ship spun like a top! Centrifugal force crushed me against the control room floor. Redman, an expression of pained surprise on his face before it slammed against the floor, was jammed helplessly in the corridor. I had time for one brief grin. The Patrol would zero in on us, and I'd have a hundred thousand I could spend. What could I do with six million I couldn't use?