's heavy
artillery, Sandy. And I mean _heavy_."

"I think you're slightly nuts there. But do you really believe that the
Board was playing Cupid?"

"Not trying, but doing. Cold-bloodedly and efficiently. Yes."

"But it wouldn't _work_! We aren't going to get lost!"

"We won't need to. Propinquity will do the work."

"Phooie. You and me, for instance?" She stopped, put both hands on her
hips, and glared. "Why, I wouldn't marry _you_ if you ..."

"I'll tell the cockeyed world you won't!" Hilton broke in. "Me marry a
damned female Ph.D.? Uh-uh. Mine will be a cuddly little brunette that
thinks a slipstick is some kind of lipstick and that an isotope's
something good to eat."

"One like that copy of Murchison's Dark Lady that you keep under the
glass on your desk?" she sneered.

"Exactly...." He started to continue the battle, then shut himself off.
"But listen, Sandy, why should we get into a fight because we don't want
to marry each other? You're doing a swell job. I admire you tremendously
for it and I like to work with you."

"You've got a point there, Jarve, at that, and I'm one of the few who
know what kind of a job _you're_ doing, so I'll relax." She flashed him
a gamin grin and they went on into the control room.

It was too late in the day then to do any more exploring; but the next
morning, early, the _Perseus_ lined out for the city of the humanoids.

* * * * *

Tula turned toward her fellows. Her eyes filled with a happily
triumphant light and her thought a lilting song. "I have been telling
you from the first touch that it was the Masters. It _is_ the Masters!
The Masters are returning to us Omans and their own home world!"

* * * * *

"Captain Sawtelle," Hilton said, "Please land in the cradle below."

"_Land!_" Sawtelle stormed. "On a planet like _that_? Not by ..." He
broke off and stared; for now, on that cradle, there flamed out in
screaming red the _Perseus'_ own Navy-coded landing symbols!

"Your protest is recorded," Hilton said. "Now, sir, land."

Fuming, Sawtelle landed. Sandra looked pointedly at Hilton. "First
contact is my dish, you know."

"Not that I like it, but it is." He turned to a burly youth with
sun-bleached, crew-cut hair, "Still safe, Frank?"

"Still abnormally low. Surprising no end, since all the rest of the
planet is hotter than the middle tail-race of hell."

"Okay, Sandy. Who will you want besides