s humming with a
minimum of stress. We don't have world wars now because we work off our
pugnacity by sailing into gym sluggers eight or ten times a week. And
since our romantic emotions can be taken care of by tactile television
we're not at the mercy of every brainless bit of fluff's calculated
ankle appeal."

Lawton turned, and regarded him quizzically. "Don't you suppose I
realize that? You'd think I just blew in from Mars."

"All right. We have the outlets, the safety valves. They are supposed to
keep us civilized. But you don't derive any benefit from them."

"The heck I don't. I exchange blows with Slashaway every time I board
the Perseus. And as for women--well, there's just one woman in the world
for me, and I wouldn't exchange her for all the Turkish images in the
tactile broadcasts from Stamboul."

"Yes, I know. But you work off your primitive emotions with too much
gusto. Even a cast-iron gym slugger can bruise. That last blow
was--brutal. Just because Slashaway gets thumped and thudded all over by
the medical staff twice a week doesn't mean he can take--"

The stratoship lurched suddenly. The deck heaved up under Lawton's feet,
hurling him against Captain Forrester and spinning both men around so
that they seemed to be waltzing together across the ship. The still limp
gym slugger slid downward, colliding with a corrugated metal bulkhead
and sloshing back and forth like a wet mackerel.

A full minute passed before Lawton could put a stop to that. Even while
careening he had been alive to Slashaway's peril, and had tried to leap
to his aid. But the ship's steadily increasing gyrations had hurled him
away from the skipper and against a massive vaulting horse, barking the
flesh from his shins and spilling him with violence onto the deck.

He crawled now toward the prone gym slugger on his hands and knees, his
temples thudding. The gyrations ceased an instant before he reached
Slashaway's side. With an effort he lifted the big man up, propped him
against the bulkhead and shook him until his teeth rattled. "Slashaway,"
he muttered. "Slashaway, old fellow."

Slashaway opened blurred eyes, "Phew!" he muttered. "You sure socked me
hard, sir."

"You went out like a light," explained Lawton gently. "A minute before
the ship lurched."

"The ship _lurched_, sir?"

"Something's very wrong, Slashaway. The ship isn't moving. There are no
vibrations and--Slashaway, are you hurt? Your skull thumped against that