"Men!" sneered Sandra. "The whole sex is the same, here or on any inhabited planet. You know so much! Your vaunted power of reasoning is so brilliant. You pride yourselves on your inflexible wills or your willingness to accept new ideas, depending upon which your utter self-esteem thinks is best to exhibit at the instant. Thuni, what do you think?" "The metal is of little importance to dead men," said Thuni promptly. "And you claim that Terra and Pluto have machines in abundance. The answer is obvious." "You see?" said Sandra triumphantly. "I've forgotten," admitted Theodi. "I'd been taught from childhood that high power was hard to get. It is hard to think that another star has it a-plenty and is willing, and able, to give us enough for our needs. It is a revolutionary thought and seems unreal. A story, perhaps. Yes, Sandrake, you shall have your power." "Good," said Sandra, taking a deep breath. "And thanks. I'll also need your best students for the job." "Our best are poor enough. Gravitics were known in theory only. A detectable phenomenon, utterly useless. We could not pass the initial doorway--the power generating bands--because of our satellite's absorption of the primary effects. To study the higher and more complex effects was impossible save in theory. But you shall have them." "I have some practical working knowledge of the stuff," said Sandra. "One can't live and work with McBride and Hammond and the rest without getting a bit of it. Oh, I was only with them for a few weeks at best, but they are ardent teachers. I'll get along with the help of your students." "You're certain?" "Not certain--but fairly sure. At best, you have nothing to lose and everything to gain." "I think we have misjudged you," said Theodi. "You're fundamentally fine--" "Thank you," said Sandra, simply. "Convincing you was the hardest job I've ever done, believe me." "Convincing the Terrans--?" "Will be the second hardest job. Darn it, we can't use television." * * * * * McBride shook his head at Steve Hammond. "Don't believe it," he said. "You don't." "No, I don't. Drake has something up her sleeve." "It's a pretty big sleeve, then," grinned Hammond. "Rigging anything to call from Telfu to Sol is no small potatoes." "She overloaded everything in sight. That'd about make it right," said McBride. "It went blooey right in the middle of the third sentence--'McBride or Hammond: Telfu in grip of serious epidemic. Need highly charged laboratory to prepare mis-valenced compound for synthetic serum. Danger is imminent, so implore your help for the lives of--' and that's all. Either she's as dramatic as Shakespeare, or this is the real juice." "And you think it is joy-juice." "Her past record--and yet we can't afford to pass this up. She should know, though, that if this is the malarkey, she'll be scorned out of the system. Both systems." "She wrecked the lens--and she's still here," reminded Hammond.