Lao Mei, small, exquisitely feminine and endowed not only with quiet charm but with that combination of fine human ingredients customarily lumped under the general heading of “character,” was recently back from Earth, where she had born Revere induced twins. She said, “How is it, Lynne. Is everything still _purt?_” Lynne nodded and turned her attention to her soup. “Couldn’t be _purter_,” she replied, thinking that Lao Mei, with her hard core of integrity had been a wonderful mate for Revere, who was brilliant, telepathically gifted, but given to occasional lapses of weakness. _You can say that again._ Revere’s thought came through to her clearly across the table. _Everything really_ zwirchy? _Everything’s fine._ It was not really good manners at Nampura Depot for two Class-C telepaths, capable of receiving, selecting and projecting thoughts to indulge in silent dialogue in the presence of a mere Class-A like Lao Mei. But since it was all in the family.... Lynne went on silently to Revere, who, with non-TP Tony Willis virtually ran Martian communications while Rolf was away on Earth, _I’ve got to take an exercise spell after lunch or I’d tend to it myself. But I wish you’d check Doc Smetana on Joanna Wheatley of Patagonia Station this pip emma and give me the gen on her._ _Why, something up?_ Revere inquired with a thought-probe. Lynne told him of her meeting in the doctor’s office, and the girl’s strange behavior. Then, aloud, she said, “If something _is_ wrong down there, it might be a good idea to find it out now. You know how touchy Husbandry has been about our mucking into their _ferkab_ affairs--ever since we had them shut off their atomic transmuter while we were getting Old E in a harness. It’s probably nothing. But it didn’t _feel_ like nothing. Joanna was keeping her thoughts rigidly masked while I talked to her.” “If you two _marlets_ do any more silent talking while I’m at this table,” said Lao Mei sternly, “I’m going to dump your food right over your heads. It’s like being stranded in the middle of a deaf-mute convention and not knowing sign language.” “Sorry,” said Lynne. Revere took his wife’s hand and squeezed it. Then, telepathically, to Lynne he said: _Will do, female. Go do your exercises and let Brother Revere ride again._ Lao Mei, looking at them closely, made a move toward a particularly drippy canalberry salad with leeks, and thereafter the table talk was just that. When Lynne left them to go to her room, her sister-in-law said with a sigh, “I’m going to turn my old brain in for a new model-a TP Class-D one.” “If you do,” said Revere Fenlay, “you’ll be the only one in all the worlds. So who will you have to talk to?” “It’s not _whom_ I’ll have to talk to,” said Lao Mei demurely. “It’s the _whoms_ I’ll be able to shut out.” IV