"A substance that is overbalanced as goes electrons. They will be inserted by concocting the stuff under extremely high electron pressure. Make it some sort of station that has an intrinsic charge of ten to the fiftieth electron volts, or so; that'll make queer alloys, I'll bet. Then it can be stabilized by inter-alloying something with a dearth of electrons. The two metals will be miscible, say, when liquid, and so their electron balance will come out even. They are cooled under this stress and so forth. When the disintegrator beam hits them, it will liberate the electrons and the whole thing will go plooey." "Looks like a matter of finding the right stuff," said Walt. "Don, what about running the Station charge up as Wes says?" "No dice. The Station is too big. Besides, the chargo-changing gear would be overworked all over the Station to maintain the charge, once made. "Take the _Relay Girl_ out and try it, Wes." "Come along?" "We don't mind if we do," grinned Walt, winking at Don. "There'll be nothing didding about business until we get a medium of exchange." * * * * * The Reverend Thomas Doylen speared Keg Johnson with a fishy glance and thundered: "A plague on both your houses!" Johnson grinned unmercifully. "You didn't get that out of the Bible," he said. "But it is none the less true," came the booming reply. "So what? Mind telling me what I'm doomed to eternal damnation for?" "Sacrilege and blasphemy," exploded Doylen. "I came to plead with you. I wanted to bring you into the fold--to show you the error of your sinful way. And what do I find? I find, guarding the city, a massive gate of mother-of-pearl and platinum. Solid gold bars on the gates which swing wide at the approach. A bearded man in a white cloak recording those who enter. Once inside--" "You find a broad street paved with gold. Diamonds in profusion stud the street for traction since gold is somewhat slippery as a pavement. The sidewalks are pure silver and the street stop-lights are composed of green emeralds, red rubies, and amber amethysts. They got sort of practical at that point, reverend. Oh, I also see that you have taken your sample." Doylen looked down at the brick. It was the size of a housebrick--but of pure gold. Stamped in the top surface were the words: "99.99% pure gold. A souvenir of Fabriville." "What means all this?" stormed the reverend, waving the brick. "My very good friend, it is intended to prove only one thing. Nothing--absolutely nothing--is worth anything. The psychological impact of the pearly gate and the street of gold tends to strike home the fact that here in Fabriville, nothing of material substance is of value. Service, which cannot be duplicated, is the medium of exchange in Fabriville--have you anything to offer, reverend?" "The Lord saith: 'Six days shalt thou labor--' You have destroyed that law, Johnson."