“I know,” Alexander said, “somehow they’ve never forgotten that Grandfather trapped the last of the Lani males on Olympus.” Jordan nodded. “They can’t stand the place. That’s why we had to abandon the station.” “Does this new world have a moon?” Kennon asked abruptly. “Yes--in fact it has two.” “Habitable?” “No--they’re too small to hold air. But men could live there in domes--but why do you?--oh! I see! I hadn’t considered that point.” Alexander’s hand darted to the phone beside him. “Get me Albertsville,” he snapped. “Yes, my offices--I want Mr. Oliver in purchasing and contracting. Hello--Ward? Alexander here. Yes--everything’s fine. I have a job for you--use your scrambler-pattern two.” Alexander dialed the scrambler code on the second dial at the base of the phone, effectively preventing eavesdropping by beam tappers. “Yes,” he went on. “It’s Project Phoebe. Have you secured title to the moons? You haven’t? Well--you’d better do it before some of our competitors get bright ideas. Sure they know about the project--do you think they’re stupid? Warren over at Consolidated practically told me that he was onto our scheme. So get title to those moons. Since they’re uninhabitable and within the planet’s primary field they come under the Spatial Debris Act and you should be able to get Kardonian title without any great amount of trouble. Naturally we want them.--For defense--what else? We’ll have most of our eggs in that basket. No--I don’t know how we overlooked that point. But if it wasn’t for a bright young man out here we’d have left ourselves wide open. Now get cracking--get that leak plugged!” Alexander dropped the phone back in its cradle and sighed. “Well--that’s buttoned up,” he said. “Thanks, Kennon.” Kennon looked at Alexander’s grinning face, his own impassive, but a shattering certainty exploded in his mind--Alexander was a telepath! That was his difference! That was the thing that made him feared and respected by his business associates. It wouldn’t have been enough on the Central Worlds, where men knew of sensitives and took precautions against them. But out here on the periphery it was a deadly advantage. “So I gave it away,” Alexander said. “I suppose I was careless, but your thoughts about the moons shocked me.” “You practically told me once before, when you hired me,” Kennon said, “but I never realized it.” “You were too excited then.” “I wouldn’t know,” Kennon said. “At any rate I didn’t add the facts correctly.” From somewhere deep in his memory an old quip came floating to the surface: “An executive is a man who picks brains--others’ brains.” By that definition Alexander was an executive of the first class. Alexander chuckled.