ping, though--it chipped her
toenails and her temper. Besides, Drosmig kept complaining that the
noise prevented him from sleeping and she preferred him to sleep rather
than hang there making irrelevant and, sometimes, unpleasantly relevant
remarks.

"Longing for the old scripto, eh?" one of the cameramen smiled as he
lounged in the open doorway of her office. Although she was fond of
fresh air, Tarb realized that she would have to keep the door shut from
now on. Too many of the younger members of the staff kept booing at her
as they passed, and now they had formed the habit of dropping in to
offer her advice, encouragement and invitations to meals. At first, the
attention had pleased her--but now she was much too busy to be bothered;
she was going to turn out acceptable answers to those letters or die
trying.

"Well, if the power can't be converted, it can't," she said grimly.
"Griblo, I do wish you'd be a dear and flutter off. I--"

He snorted. "Who says the power can't be converted? Stet, huh?"

She took her feet off the keys and looked at him. "Why do you say 'Stet'
that way?"

"Because that's a lot of birdseed he gives you about not being able to
convert Earth power. Could be done all right, but he and the consul have
it all fixed up to keep Fizbian technology off the planet. Consul's
probably being paid off by the International Association of
Manufacturers and Stet's in it for the preservation of indigenous
culture--and maybe a little cash, too. After all, those rare antique
collections of his cost money."

"I don't believe it!" Tarb snapped. "Griblo, please--I have so much work
to get through!"

"Okay, chick, but I warn you, you're going to have your bright-eyed
illusions shattered. Why don't you wake up to the truth about
Stet? What you should do is maybe eschew the society of all journalists
entirely, and a sordid lot they are, and devote yourself to
photographers--splendid fellows, all."

"Please shut the door behind you!"

The door slammed.

Tarb gazed disconsolately at the letter before her. Would she ever be
able to answer letters to Stet's satisfaction? The purpose of the whole
column was service--but did she and Stet mean the same thing by the same
word? Or, if they did, whom was Stet serving?

She was paying too much attention to Griblo's idle remarks. Obviously he
was a sorehead--had some kind of grudge against Stet. Perhaps Stet was a
bit too autocratic, perhaps he had even gone native t