Revere spoke to Lynn aloud for the benefit of the doctor, who was barely a Class-A telepath. “I’ve been doing some checking on conditions at Patagonia Station,” he said. “Those _marlets_ have been having a bucketful of _swackish_ troubles lately. It seems the cattle have been showing every symptom of going off their collective rails--stampedes, off-season breeding fits, berserk tempers, even dancing.” “That I’ll have to see,” said Lynne, lighting a cigarette. “You will--in a moment,” said Dr. Smetana. “I’ve got Joanna Wheatley’s tapes right here.” He turned on a switch. At once a wall screen flashed on, revealing a set of file numbers. Thanks to Rolf Marcein’s development of the formerly dangerous necro-recorder, which reproduced on a screen the thoughts of a person under certain hypnotic drugs, psychiatry on Mars had taken a long leap ahead of parallel progress on the mother planet. There, because its use hastened death or insanity through the strain it put on the patient’s mind and body, the recorder was still used only in cases of extreme urgency. On Mars, thanks to Rolf’s improvements its use had become mere examination routine. The screen flashed its polychromatic “adjustment” patterns, some of which were highly revealing of Joanna’s normal young woman desires. Then, in response to channeled suggestion, got to the matter under examination. The miraculous green grasses of the newly-created Patagonia Station veldt appeared in brilliant color with the dark blue sky of Mars over them. Small herds of plump, carefully selected beef cattle grazed peacefully on the grass which the wonder of E-power had made possible. There was even a glimpse of Joanna, riding herd on a tractoscooter, and smoking a cigarette. Then the vehicle was halted close to a herd which the dark-skinned girl was inspecting. A plump steer turned to watch her. It seemed to be regarding her with speculation. There was a close-up of the creature’s face, its eyes revealing a startling intelligence. All at once, the steer went into a dance. It was a rhythmic swaying, at first, but it quickly became a series of small steps in harmony with some unheard rhythm or meter. The other steers looked, nodded or shook their heads and finally joined in, following the leader. They performed almost like a vidar chorus-line back on Earth, kicking in unison and swaying as if to music. Then they broke up into groups and entered into a series of unbelievable revels that could only be described as immoral, even for animals. There was a flash of Joanna, taking off on her tractoscooter, followed by a picture of her back on the scene, with the neighboring Woomera Depot superintendent, while the creatures placidly grazed. “What do you make of it?” Dr. Smetana asked the instant the film ended. He was frowning as he switched off the recorder. “Is she crazy?”