“We expect miracles to happen once in a long while,” Dr. Smetana told her, “but not two in a row.” “Or maybe it’s not such a miracle after all,” Lynne suggested. “I’m merely following Rana’s technique--with a wrinkle or two of my own thrown in. If it works for two of us--” “Remember, you’re both Class-C telepaths,” said the physician. “I’d hate to recommend this yoga-and-TP technique to anyone less gifted. And, right now, there are only fifty-three Class-C telepaths, female gender, on Mars. So....” He lifted one thick, dark eyebrow. Leaving the doctor, on her way to the dining hall for lunch, Lynne ran into an old acquaintance--dark-skinned Joanna Wheatley, who had shared a space-ship cabin with her on her trip out from Earth. The young animal husbandry expert had, quite by accident, put Lynne on the track of the E-power source that was already doing so much to increase the density of the Martian atmosphere, and make successful cultivation possible on the bleak desert wastes. Joanna, a buoyantly healthy, good-natured girl who usually wore her exuberant emotions close to the ebony surface of her skin, seemed to Lynne strangely subdued. Looking at her in disbelief, Lynne said, “_Crehut_, Joanna, you can’t be ill. Not you.” “I’m not,” was the reply. “At least, I don’t think I am. But my chief at Woomera Station thought your Dr. Smetana had better look me over.” Then, eying Lynne’s figure, “You look wonderful. Lynne, I’d give anything to trade places with you. Every woman on Mars would.” That, Lynne decided, was probably untrue. She interrupted with, “Woomera Station? I thought you were running the beef garden at Patagonia since old E gave us enough moisture for pampas.” “I am,” said the girl with a flash of pride. “But Patagonia is still under Woomera control. Lynne, what you did to harness E-power was the most marvelous thing. And now, this!” “_This_ is one prolonged headache,” said Lynne, looking down at herself ruefully. “One of these days, when it’s over, I’m coming down to pay you and your prize shorthorns a visit.” “That would be wonderful,” Joanna said, her eyes glowing. Then her gaze fell away, her manner became diffident. “But not too soon,” she said in an abnormally small voice. “Things are a bit messed up right now. I’d say they were downright _swackish_.” Another pause, then, “I’ll let you know when we have everything _purt_. I do want you down there.” “I’ll be there--whenever you’re ready,” said Lynne. “Don’t let old Smetana intimidate you, Joanna. He has a heart of lichen-jelly.” She gave Joanna’s smooth-fleshed, muscular forearm a friendly squeeze. Then she went on out and crossed the main patio to the dining hall, where she joined her twin brother, Revere and his wife, Lao Mei, at one of the smaller tables. As always, when confronted with Revere, Lynne wondered why she hadn’t been born a man. To her, the Fenlay face looked far better in masculine gender. Fortunately, she thought, her husband did not agree.