ns hidden away, both on Fuel World
and on Ardry here, to maintain the balance."

"Oh, hell!" Elliott snapped. "If I helped you hatch out any such
brainstorm as _that_, I'm going onto Tillinghast's couch for a six-week
overhaul--or have him put me into his padded cell."

"Now _that's_ what I would call a thought," Bryant began.

"Hold it, Sam," Hilton interrupted. "You can test it easily enough,
Steve. Just ask your Oman."

"Yeah--and have him say 'Why, of course, Master, but why do you keep on
testing me this way?' He'll ask me that about four times more, the
stubborn, single-tracked, brainless skunk, and I'll _really_ go nuts.
Are you getting anywhere trying to make a Christian out of Laro?"

"It's too soon to really say, but I think so." Hilton paused in thought.
"He's making progress, but I don't know how much. The devil of it is
that it's up to him to make the next move; I can't. I haven't the
faintest idea, whether it will take days yet or weeks."

* * * * *

"But not months or years, you think?" Sawtelle asked.

"No. We think that--but say, speaking of psychologists, is Tillinghast
getting anywhere, Skipper? He's the only one of your big wheels who
isn't in liaison with us."

"No. Nowhere at all," Sawtelle said, and Bryant added:

"I don't think he ever will. He still thinks human psychology will apply
if he applies it hard enough. But what did you start to say about
Laro?"

"We think the break is about due, and that if it doesn't come within
about thirty days it won't come at all--we'll have to back up and start
all over again."

"I hope it does. We're all pulling for you," Sawtelle said. "Especially
since Karns's estimate is still years, and he won't be pinned down to
any estimate even in years. By the way, Jarve, I've pulled my team off
of that conversion stuff."

"Oh?" Hilton raised his eyebrows.

"Putting them at something they can do. The real reason is that
Poindexter pulled himself and his crew off it at eighteen hours today."

"I see. I've heard that they weren't keeping up with our team."

"He says that there's nothing to keep up with, and I'm inclined to agree
with him." The old spacehound's voice took on a quarter-deck rasp. "It's
a combination of psionics, witchcraft and magic. None of it makes any
kind of sense."

"The only trouble with that viewpoint is that, whatever the stuff may
be, it works," Hilton said, quietly.

"But damn it, how _can_ it