"I think so. Yes. At the plant they did. They had trouble getting the
surfaces properly cleaned for welding. But they managed it. Why?"

"One more question," said Mike tensely. "How much Portland cement is
used to make a cubic yard of concrete?"

"I wouldn't know," admitted Joe. "Why? What's all this about?"

"Haney and the Chief. Those two big apes have been kidding me--as long
as they could stay awake--for what happened to me when I landed. Those
infernal savages--" Mike seethed. "They got my clothes off and they had
me smeared all over with butter and forty-'leven necklaces around my
neck and flowers in my hair! They thought I was some kind of heathen
god! Hanuman, somebody told me. The Hindu monkey-god!" He raged. "And
those two big apes think it's funny! Joe, I never knew I _knew_ all the
words for the cussings I gave those heathen before our fellas found me!
And Haney and the Chief will drive me crazy if I can't slap 'em down!
Powder metallurgy does the trick, from what you told me. That's okay,
then."

He stood up and stalked toward the front of the plane. Joe roused
himself with an effort. He turned to look about him. Haney lay slumped
in a reclining chair, on the other side of the plane cabin. His eyes
were closed. The Chief lay limply in another chair. He smiled faintly at
Joe, but he didn't try to talk. He was too tired. The return to normal
gravity bothered him, as it did Joe.

Joe looked out the window. In neat, geometric spacing on either side of
the transport there were fighter jets. There was another flight above
and farther away. Joe saw, suddenly, a peeling-off of planes from the