"It seems that you may have found an answer to cellular breakdown which brings on age. Will you give us your impression of why men die?"

She groped for words. "They just grow tired," she said. "I asked the doctor at Recovery why men die. He said that medical science had not found the answer. He said that the body was able to reproduce every cell of itself and did that many times during one lifetime. But eventually men grow tired and die."

"And what was it that you concluded made them tired?"

"Gravity," Sue said simply. "That constant pull we fight against. It—"

"Wait!"

There were hurried movements. A comfortable couch was pushed forward.

"Will you please relax, Mrs. Wilson? We have your complete record. We know exactly how you've worked."

Sue shook her head. "I'll still be tired, no matter how much I relax. Gravity still goes on, pulling us down. One day I'll die, not because I'm old, but because I'm tired."

"One of you gentlemen please place another pillow behind her," said a Councilman. "Now, Mrs. Wilson, we are going to place this matter in the hands of our scientists. We want you to remain here."

"But I have to go back. I'm needed in the factory."

"They'll make out, Mrs. Wilson."

"But I know those machines, just as our men know their ships. I can make them produce. I'm valuable in the factory."

"You are indeed, but we have another task for you."

"But Alfred? He'll—"

"Your husband is waiting for you in a ship which is almost ready to go out."

"Out? But Alfred? He mustn't ever fight again. You can't make him do that. Send me instead. I promised him, but—send me in his place."

"We are sending you both, Mrs. Wilson. And I think it is proper to assure you that the tide has turned."

"Oh!"

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