"We've got to beat the Big Shots at their own game; we've got to invent a substitute for war."
"A substitute for war!" His respect turned to disgust. "You're nuts; there ain't no such animal."
"Sez you!" As always, when under the strain of great excitement, she dropped into the half-gangster, half-western argot which she had picked up while fighting in the Underground. "Listen, wise guy. I'll bet you five grand I can cook up a substitute the Big Shots will fall for like a ton of bricks."
"Some sort of game, I suppose," he jeered as he picked up the check.
"Game, my eye!" Seeing his bewilderment, she leaned forward and nibbled his ear. "I'll give you just one tip. If an atom bomb explodes, where's the only place it can't do any serious damage?"
"Why ... why. Holy cats. Maybe you've got something there!"
"I've got everything." She rose lithely as if to prove it. "Come on, let's hit the hay; we're going into Wildoatia as Incors tomorrow."
"But the Space Patrol has the authority to inspect every Big Shot mine and factory. Why should we go incognito?"
"Because I like to stay alive, chump," she answered, slipping her hand under his arm.