The Telfan ideal of beauty did not include Sandra Drake's perfection. She could have postured from now until galaxy's end, and they wouldn't have known her intent. Against their women, Sandra was alien—not sickeningly ugly or deformed, but alien and acceptable—and totally undesirable.
Sandra sighed, told the subconscious mind not to bother with the spotlights and provocative sultriness, and tried to think her way to the mastery of these Telfans.
"Couldn't we divert the electrical supply plants across Telfu?" objected Theodi. "Seems to me—"
"Not a chance," said Sandra. "You have no idea of the power required. I must shoot the works all at once. The set, the generators, and the supply lines will all go out at once. That'll give me ten minutes, I hope."
"But the dissipation of such power—Where can we collect it?"
"There's only one place on Telfu. That's in the power room of the Lady Luck. That is still intact?"
"Yes. Handled, inspected, photographed, and manipulated without driving power, of course, but it is still intact."
"Should be," commented Sandra wryly. "After all, my trouble was not being able to make the drive work. Couldn't get any push. Used up my entire stock of cupralum. So, do we?"
"I hate to say 'yes,'" said Theodi.