Cum Grano Salis is a Fiction Short Story Book. Just because a man can do something others can't does not, unfortunately, mean he knows how to do it. One man could eat the native fruit and live … but how? "And that", said Colonel Fennister glumly, "appears to be that". The pile of glowing coals that had been Storage Shed Number One was still sending up tongues of flame, but they were nothing compared with what they'd been half an hour before. "The smoke smells good, anyway", said Major Grodski, sniffing appreciatively. The colonel turned his head and glowered at his adjutant. "There are times, Grodski, when your sense of humor is out of place". "Yes, sir", said the major, still sniffing. "Funny thing for lightning to do, though. Sort of a dirty trick, you might say". " You might", growled the colonel. He was a short, rather roundish man, who was forever thankful that the Twentieth Century predictions of skin tight uniforms for the Space Service had never come true. He had round, pleasant, blue eyes, a rather largish nose, and a rumbling basso voice that was a little surprising the first time you heard it, but which seemed to fit perfectly after you knew him better. Right at the moment, he was filing data and recommendations in his memory, where they would be instantly available for use when he needed them. Not in a physical file, but in his own mind. All right, Colonel Fennister, he thought to himself, just what does this mean to me? And to the rest? The Space Service was not old. Unlike the Air Service, the Land Service, or the Sea Service, it did not have centuries or tradition behind it. But it had something else. It had something that none of the other Services had Potential .
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