the controls of the
_Perseus_ in neutral. He informed her officers--by releasing a
public-address tape--that they were now free to return to Terra.

Three days later, one day short of Sol, Sawtelle got Five-Jet Admiral
Gordon's office on the sub-space radio. An officious underling tried to
block him, of course.

"Shut up, Perkins, and listen," Sawtelle said, bruskly. "Tell Gordon I'm
bringing in one hundred twenty thousand two hundred forty-five metric
tons of pelleted uranexite. And if he isn't on this beam in sixty
seconds he'll never get a gram of it."

The admiral, outraged almost to the point of apoplexy, came in.
"Sawtelle, report yourself for court-martial at ..."

"Keep still, Gordon," the captain snapped. In sheer astonishment old
Five-Jets obeyed. "I am no longer Terran Navy; no longer subject to your
orders. As a matter of cold fact, I am no longer human. For reasons
which I will explain later to the full Advisory Board, some of the
personnel of Project Theta Orionis underwent transformation into a form
of life able to live in an environment of radioactivity so intense as to
kill any human being in ten seconds. Under certain conditions we will
supply, free of charge, FOB Terra or Luna, all the uranexite the Solar
System can use. The conditions are these," and he gave them. "Do you
accept these conditions or not?"

"I ... I would vote to accept them, Captain. But that weight! One
hundred twenty thousand _metric tons_--incredible! Are you _sure_ of
that figure?"

"Definitely. And that is minimum. The error is plus, not minus."

"This crippling power-shortage would really be over?" For the first time
since Sawtelle had known him, Gordon showed that he was not quite solid
Navy brass.

"It's over. Definitely. For good."

"I'd not only agree; I'd raise you a monument. While I can't speak for
the Board, I'm sure they'll agree."

"So am I. In any event, your cooperation is all that's required for this
first load." The chips had vanished from Sawtelle's shoulders. "Where do
you want it, Admiral? Aristarchus or White Sands?"

"White Sands, please. While there may be some delay in releasing it to
industry ..."

"While they figure out how much they can tax it?" Sawtelle asked,
sardonically.

"Well, if they don't tax it it'll be the first thing in history that
isn't. Have you any objections to releasing all this to the press?"

"None at all. The harder they hit it and the wider they spread it, the
bette