ly recruited his young sister, a writer or artist or
something of the sort, who lives somewhere in southern Europe. All she
had to do was buy a dozen pairs of the fluffiest, frilliest, most
outrageously feminine silk undies she could find in the most chi-chi
shop in Paris and then send them to Prunella with a note honoring her
as the first woman on Xenon and asking Prunella to accept them as a
token of admiration from one woman to another. Some fictitious name
was to be signed to it.

"We raided the office, obtained Prunella's file and copied out the
proper measurements from it. Sparks fed the message, measurements and
a blank signed photo-check into the coder and the automatic ultra-wave
transmitter took it with a swift _blip_ of sound and that was that."

* * * * *

I waited for Lee to catch his breath, which he did by inhaling from a
full glass. Then he continued talking.

"All this occurred about the middle of Xenon's third month. We
expected the skivies to arrive on a supply ship due the first of the
following month, which gave us nearly three Earth weeks to wait, but
we didn't mind. After all, we had something to wait _for_.

"The ship, bless the crew, was on schedule almost to the hour. Adams
had had his wide-angle 'scope aimed at the sky above Xenon since long
before breakfast, and he and the detectors ran a dead heat when the
ship winked out of sub-space about two million or so miles out.

"By mid-morning, the ship's gravitors had floated her into the field
for the usual feather-light landing, and mail call, always the first
order of business, was over.

"Women have a well-deserved reputation for dawdling over trifles when
important matters wait, but that morning Prunella broke all previous
records. She gossiped with the ship's captain about interminable
bills of lading, she inspected the field for any possible damage by
the ship, she swallowed enough coffee to start a fair-sized shortage.
Finally, just in time to save the station from a mass nervous
collapse, she left the office for her quarters, carrying her mail in
one hand and that small, all-important package in the other.

"She reappeared for lunch wearing the tiny smile of a woman who knows
she is appreciated by _someone_ and, we hoped, also wearing something
else not quite so visible. Never was one so closely watched by so
many. If she looked distressed, we gloated. If she squirmed in her
chair, we rejoiced. Her e