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He no longer needed a new generator for his tractor. He had one.

He didn’t even need a Diesel.

With adequate power—he’d been having to nurse the Diesel along, too, lately—Lon Simpson ran his tractor late into the twilight. He cultivated all the ground that urgently needed cultivation, and at least one field he hadn’t hoped to get to before next week. But his expression was amazed. It is a very peculiar sensation to discover that one is a genius.

That night, in Cetopolis, he told Cathy all about it. It was a very warm night—an unusually warm night. They walked along the plank sidewalks of the little frontier town—as a new colony, Cetis Gamma Two was a frontier—and Lon talked extravagantly.

He had meant to explain painfully to Cathy that there was no use in their being romantic about each other. He’d expected to have to tell her bitterly that he was doomed to spend the rest of his life adding to the profits of the Cetis Gamma Trading Company, with all the laws of the human race holding him in peonage. He’d thought of some very elegant descriptions of the sort of people who’d worked out the system in force on Cetis Gamma Two.