Ross thought hard and long. He realized first that he could probably never explain what he meant to Bernie, and second that if he did they’d probably both wind up aboard “Minerva” for conspiracy to advocate equality. He shifted his ground. “Of course everybody agrees on the natural superiority of women,” he said, “but people seem to differ from planet to planet as to the reasons. What do they say here on Azor?” “Oh—nothing special or fancy. Just the common-sense, logical thing. They’re smaller, for one thing, and haven’t got the muscles of men, so they’re natural supervisors. They accumulate money as a matter of course because men die younger and women are the beneficiaries. Then, women have a natural aptitude for all the interesting jobs. I saw a broadcast about that just the other night. The biggest specialist on the planet in vocational aptitude. I forget her name, but she proved it conclusively.” He looked at the empty platter before them. “I’ve got to go now. Thanks for everything.” “The pleasure was mine.” Ross watched his undernourished figure head for the station. He swore a little, and then buckled down to some hard thinking. Helena was his key to this world. He’d have to have a long skull-session or two with her; he couldn’t be constantly prompting her or there would be serious trouble. She would be the front and he would be the very inconspicuous brains of the outfit, trailing humbly behind. But was she capable of absorbing a brand-new, rather complicated concept? She seemed to be, he told himself uncomfortably, in love with him. That would help considerably.... Helena and Pilot Breuer showed up, walking with a languor that suggested a large and pleasant meal disposed of. Helena’s first words disposed with shocking speed of Ross’s doubts that she was able to acquire a brand-new sociological concept. They were: “Ah, there you are, my dear. Did the boy bring you something or other to eat?” “Yes. Thanks. Very thoughtful of you,” he said pointedly, with one eye on Breuer’s reaction. There was none; he seemed to have struck the right note. “Pilot Breuer,” said Helena blandly, “thinks I’d enjoy an evening doing the town with her and a few friends.” “But the Cavallo people——” “Ross,” she said gently, “don’t _nag_.” He shut up. And thought: wait until I get her out into space. _If_ I get her out into space. She’d be a damned fool to leave this wacked-up culture.... Breuer was saying, with an altogether too-innocent air, “I’d better get you two settled in a hotel for the night; then I’ll pick up Helena and a few friends and we’ll show her what old Novj Grad has to offer in the way of night life. Can’t have her batting around the universe saying Azor’s sidewalks are rolled up at 2100, can we? And then she can do her trading or whatever it is with Cavallo bright and early tomorrow, eh?” Ross realized that he was being jollied out of an attack of the sulks. He didn’t like it. * * * * *