"They probably look like salamanders," said Pete. "But tell the people anything you want. If we're going to get across the sanctity of Grdznth motherhood, my friend, anything goes." "It's genius," chortled Tommy. "Sheer genius." "If it sells," the senator added, dubiously. "It'll sell," Pete said. "The question is: for how long?" * * * * * The planning revealed the mark of genius. Nothing sudden, harsh, or crude--but slowly, in a radio comment here or a newspaper story there, the emphasis began to shift from Grdznth in general to Grdznth as mothers. A Rutgers professor found his TV discussion on "Motherhood as an Experience" suddenly shifted from 6:30 Monday evening to 10:30 Saturday night. Copy rolled by the ream from Tommy's office, refined copy, hypersensitively edited copy, finding its way into the light of day through devious channels. Three days later a Grdznth miscarriage threatened, and was averted. It was only a page 4 item, but it was a beginning. Determined movements to expel the Grdznth faltered, trembled with indecision. The Grdznth were ugly, they frightened little children, they _were_ a trifle overbearing in their insufferable stubborn politeness--but in a civilized world you just couldn't turn expectant mothers out in the rain. Not even expectant Grdznth mothers. By the second week the blast was going at full tilt. In the Public Relations Bureau building, machines worked on into the night. As questionnaires came back, spot candid films and street-corner interview tapes ran through the projectors on a twenty-four-hour schedule. Tommy Heinz grew thinner and thinner, while Pete nursed sharp post-prandial stomach pains. "Why don't people _respond_?" Tommy asked plaintively on the morning the third week started. "Haven't they got any feelings? The blast is washing over them like a wave and there they sit!" He punched the private wire to Analysis for the fourth time that morning. He got a man with a hag-ridden look in his eye. "How soon?" "You want yesterday's rushes?" "What do you think I want? Any sign of a lag?" "Not a hint. Last night's panel drew like a magnet. The D-Date tag you suggested has them by the nose." "How about the President's talk?" The man from Analysis grinned. "He should be campaigning." Tommy mopped his forehead with his shirtsleeve. "Okay. Now listen: we need a special run on all response data we have for tolerance levels. Got that? How soon can we have it?" Analysis shook his head. "We could only make a guess with the data so far." "Fine," said Tommy. "Make a guess." "Give us three hours," said Analysis. "You've got thirty minutes. Get going."