 What is Grannie Annie referring to when she says "the I.P men aren't strong enough?"
Doctor Universe By CARL JACOBI Grannie Annie, who wrote science fiction under the nom de plume of Annabella C. Flowers, had stumbled onto a murderous plot more hair-raising than any she had ever concocted. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1944. "Beg pardon, thir," he said with his racial lisp, "thereth thome one to thee you in the main lounge." The Spacemen's was a sanctuary, a rest club where in-coming pilots and crewmen could relax before leaving for another voyage. The rule that no females could pass its portals was strictly enforced. There she stood before a frantically gesticulating desk clerk, leaning on her faded green umbrella. Her high-topped button shoes were planted firmly on the varpla carpet and her wrinkled face was set in calm defiance. "Mithter Trenwith, if thith lady ith a friend of yourth, you'll have to take her away. Pure fiddle-faddle, that's what they are. To her publishers and her readers she might be Annabella C. Flowers, author of a long list of science fiction novels. But to me she was still Grannie Annie, as old-fashioned as last year's hat, as modern as an atomic motor. Her annual income totaled into six figures, and her publishers sat back and massaged their digits, watching their earnings mount. They may have been dime novels, but they weren't synthetic. If Annabella C. Flowers wrote a novel, and the locale was the desert of Mars, she packed her carpet bag and hopped a liner for Craterville. If she cooked up a feud between two expeditions on Callisto, she went to Callisto. Grannie spilled a few shreds of Martian tobacco onto a paper and deftly rolled herself a cigarette. "All complete, I'll bet, with threats against the universe and beautiful Earth heroines dragged in by the hair." Before I realized it, I was following her through the lounge and out to the jetty front. Grannie Annie hailed a hydrocar. A theater to the grizzled colonials on this side of the planet meant a shack on stilts over the muck, zilcon wood seats and dingy atobide lamps. But the place was packed with miners, freight-crew-men—all the tide and wash of humanity that made Swamp City the frontier post it is. Grannie Annie pushed me into a seat in the front row.
 She knows that as the politcal climate worsens, the I.P won't be able to keep up with the chaos.
 She doesn't feel that the I.P men are serving well enough.  Just that - that the local law enforcement should be stronger.  She knows that as the politcal climate worsens, the I.P won't be able to keep up with the chaos.  The I.P men weren't quick enough to protect Billy and her from the attack.