e them. On the
surface, we got licked. I will get fired. You will find, however, that
we won this particular battle. And if you boys stay here and hang
together and keep on slugging you can win a lot more."

"Maybe, if we raise enough hell, we can make them fire us, too?" Drake
suggested.

"I doubt it. But unless I'm wrong, you can just about write your own
ticket from now on, if you play it straight." Kinnison grinned to
himself, at something which the young people could not see.

"You told me what Stoner and Black would do to us," Tugwell said,
intensely. "What I'm afraid of is that they'll do it to you."

"They can't. Not a chance in the world," Kinnison assured him. "You
fellows are young--not established. But I'm well-enough known in my own
field so that if they tried to black-ball me they'd just get themselves
laughed at, and they know it. So beat it back to the Nine, you kids, and
hang red tickets on everything that doesn't cross-section up to
standard. Tell the gang goodbye for me--I'll keep you posted."

In less than an hour Kinnison was called into the Office of the
President. He was completely at ease; Black was not.

"It has been decided to ... uh ... ask for your resignation," the
President announced at last.

"Save your breath," Kinnison advised. "I came down here to do a job, and
the only way you can keep me from doing that job is to fire me."

"That was not ... uh ... entirely unexpected. A difficulty arose,
however, in deciding what reason to put on your termination papers."

"I can well believe that. You can put down anything you like," Kinnison
shrugged, "with one exception. Any implication of incompetence and
you'll have to prove it in court."

"Incompatibility, say?"

"O.K."

"Miss Briggs--'Incompatibility with the highest echelon of Stoner and
Black, Inc.,' please. You may as well wait, Dr. Kinnison; it will take
only a moment."

"Fine. I've got a couple of things to say. First, I know as well as you
do that you're between Scylla and Charybdis--damned if you do and damned
if you don't."

"Certainly not! Ridiculous!" Black blustered, but his eyes wavered.
"Where did you get such a preposterous idea? What do you mean?"

"If you ram those sub-standard H.E.A.T. shell through, you are going to
have some more prematures. Not many--the stuff is actually almost good
enough--one in ten thousand, say: perhaps one in fifty thousand. But you
know damned well that you can't afford _any_. What