"But listen!" he exclaimed. "I _can't_, even if I want...."
"Of course you can't." Pure deviltry danced in her eyes. "You're the
Director. It wouldn't be proper. But it's Standard Operating Procedure
for simple, innocent, unsophisticated little country girls like me to go
completely overboard for the boss."
"But you can't--you _mustn't_!" he protested in panic.
Temple Bells was getting plenty of revenge for the shocks he had given
her. "I can't? Watch me!" She grinned up at him, her eyes still dancing.
"Every chance I get, I'm going to hug your arm like I did a minute ago.
And you'll take hold of my forearm, like you did! That can be taken,
you see, as either: One, a reluctant acceptance of a mildly distasteful
but not quite actionable situation, or: Two, a blocking move to keep me
from climbing up you like a squirrel!"
"Confound it, Temple, you _can't_ be serious!"
"Can't I?" She laughed gleefully. "Especially with half a dozen of those
other cats watching? Just wait and see, boss!"
Sandra and her two guests came aboard. The natives looked around; the
man at the various human men, the woman at each of the human women. The
woman remained beside Sandra; the man took his place at Hilton's left,
looking up--he was a couple of inches shorter than Hilton's six feet
one--with an air of ... of _expectancy_!
"Why this arrangement, Sandy?" Hilton asked.
"Because we're tops. It's your move, Jarve. What's first?"
"Uranexite. Come along, Sport. I'll call you that until ..."
"Laro," the native said, in a deep resonant bass voice. He hit himself a
blow on the head that would have floored any two ordinary men. "Sora,"
he announced, striking the alien woman a similar blow.
"Laro and Sora, I would like to have you look at our uranexite, with
the idea of refueling our ship. Come with me, please?"
Both nodded and followed him. In the engine room he pointed at the
engines, then to the lead-blocked labyrinth leading to the fuel holds.
"Laro, do you understand 'hot'? Radioactive?"
Laro nodded--and started to open the heavy lead door!
"Hey!" Hilton yelped. "That's hot!" He seized Laro's arm to pull him
away--and got the shock of his life. Laro weighed at least five hundred
pounds! And the guy _still_ looked human!
Laro nodded again and gave himself a terrific thump on the chest. Then
he glanced at Sora, who stepped away from Sandra. He then went into the
hold and came out with two fuel pellets in his hand, one of which he
tossed to Sora. That is, the motion looked like a toss, but the pellet
traveled like a bullet. Sora caught it unconcernedly and both natives
flipped the pellets into their mouths. There was a half minute of
rock-crusher crunching; then both natives opened their mouths.
The pellets had been pulverized and swallowed.
Hilton's voice rang out. "Poynter! How _can_ these people be
non-radioactive after eating a whole fuel pellet apiece?"
Poynter tested both natives again. "Cold," he reported. "Stone cold. No
background even. Play _that_ on your harmonica!"
* * * * *
Laro nodded, perfectly matter-of-factly, and in Hilton's mind there
formed a picture. It was not clear, but it showed plainly enough a long
line of aliens approaching the _Perseus_. Each carried on his or her
shoulder a lead container holding two hundred pounds of Navy Regulation
fuel pellets. A standard loading-tube was sealed into place and every
fuel-hold was filled.
This picture, Laro indicated plainly, could become reality any time.
Sawtelle was notified and came on the run. "No fuel is coming aboard
without being tested!" he roared.
"Of course not. But it'll pass, for all the tea in China. You haven't
had a ten per cent load of fuel since you were launched. You can fill up
or not--the fuel's here--just as you say."
"If they can make Navy standard, of course we want it."
The fuel arrived. Every load tested well above standard. Every fuel hold
was filled to capacity, with no leakage and no emanation. The natives
who had handled the stuff did not go away, but gathered in the
engine-room; and more and more humans trickled in to see what was going
on.