"I'm listening, pops, but nothing is coming through. But thanks much, anyway. I feel a lot better, knowing I'm not going to give birth to a monster. Or _are_ you sure, really?" "Of _course_ I'm sure!" Adams snapped, testily, and Barbara led Deston aside. "Have you got the _slightest_ idea of what he was talking about?" she asked. "Just the slightest, if any. Either that time is relative--no, that's so elementary he wouldn't mention it. Maybe he's figured out a _variable_ time of some kind or other. Anyway, you girls' slowness in producing has given the old boy a big lift, and I'm mighty glad of it." "But aren't you _worried_, sweetheart? Not even the least little bit?" "Of course not," and Deston very evidently meant just that. "I am. I can't help but be. Why aren't you?" "Because Doc isn't, and he knows his stuff, believe me. He can't lie any better than a three-year-old, and he's _sure_ that all four of you are just as safe as though you were in God's lefthand hip pocket." "Oh--that's right. I never thought of it that way. So I _don't_ have anything to worry about, do I?" She lifted her lips to be kissed; and the kiss was long and sweet. * * * * * Time flew past until, one day a couple of weeks short of arrival, Adams rushed up to Deston and Jones. "I have it!" he shouted, and began to spout a torrent of higher--very _much_ higher--mathematics. "Hold it, Doc!" Deston held up an expostulatory hand. "I read you zero and ten. Can't you delouse your signal? Whittle the stuff down to our size?" "W-e-l-l-," the scientist looked hurt, but did consent to forego the high math. "The discharge _is_ catastrophic; in energy equivalent something of the order of magnitude of ten thousand discharges of lightning. And, unfortunately, I do _not_ know what it is. It is virtually certain, however, that we will be able to dissipate it in successive decrements by the use of long, thin leads extending downward toward a high point of the planet." "Wire, you mean? What kind?" "The material is not important except in that it should have sufficient tensile strength to support as many miles as possible of its own length." "We've got dozens of coils of hook-up wire," Deston said, "but not too many _miles_ and it's soft stuff." "_Graham_ wire!" Jones snapped his finger. "Of course," Deston agreed. "Hundreds of miles of it. Float the senser down on a Hotchkiss----" "Tear-out." Jones objected. "Bailey it--spidered out to twenty or so big, flat feet. That'll take metal, but we can cannibal the whole Middle without weakening the structure." "Sure ... surges--backlash. Remote it." "Check. Remote everything to Baby Two, and----" "Would you mind delousing _your_ signal?" Adams asked, caustically. "'Scuse, please, Doc. A guy does talk better in his own lingo, doesn't he? Well, Graham wire is one-point-three-millimeter-diameter, ultra-high-tensile steel wire. Used for re-wrapping the Grahams, you know."