"I know I did. But it died while we were trying to force you-to force it-to talk."

I sat down and started to shake with laughter. I got started and could not stop. I was not enjoying it; I could not help it.

The Old Man grasped my shoulders and shook me. "Snap out of it! You'll get yourself sick. I'm sorry about it, but there's nothing to laugh at. It could not be helped."

"Ah, but there is," I answered, still sobbing and chuckling. "It's the funniest thing that ever happened to me. All that-and all for nothing. You dirtied yourself and you loused up me and Mary-and all for no use."

"Huh? Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Eh? I know-I know everything that went on. And you didn't even get small change out of it-out of us, I should say. You didn't learn anything you didn't know before."

"The hell we didn't!"

"And the hell you did."

"It was a bigger success than you'd ever guess, son. True, we didn't squeeze anything out of it directly, before it died-but we got something out of you."

"Me?"

"Last night. We put you through it last night. You were doped, psyched, brain-waved, analyzed, wrung out, and hung out to dry. The parasite spilled things to you and they were still there for the hypno-analysts to pick up after you were free of it."

"What?"

"Where they live. We know where they come from and can fight back-Titan, sixth satellite of Saturn."

When he said it, I felt a sudden gagging constriction of my throat-and I knew that he was right.

"You certainly fought before we could get it out of you," he went on reminiscently. "We had to hold you down to keep you from hurting yourself-more."

Instead of leaving he threw his game leg over the edge of the bed and struck a cigarette. He seemed anxious to be friendly. As for me, I did not want to fight with him further; my head was spinning and I had things to get straight. Titan-that was a long way out. Mars was the farthest men had ever been, unless the Seagraves Expedition, the one that never came back, got out to the Jovian moons.

Still, we could get there, if there were a reason for it. We would burn out their nest!

Finally he got up to go. He had limped almost to the door when I stopped him again. "Dad-"

I had not called him that in years. He turned and his face held a surprised and defenseless expression. "Yes, son?"

"Why did you and mother name me 'Elihu'?"

"Eh? Why, it seemed the thing to do at the time. It was your maternal grandfather's name."

"Oh. Not enough reason. I'd say."

"Perhaps not." He turned again and again I stopped him.

"Dad-what sort of a person was my mother?"

"Your mother? I don't exactly know how to tell you. Well-she was a great deal like Mary. Yes, sir, a great deal like her." He turned and stumped out without giving me any further chance to talk.

I turned my face to the wall. After a while I steadied down.

This is a personal account of my angle of view on events known to everybody. I'm not writing history. For one thing, I don't have the broad viewpoint.

Maybe I should have been sweating about the fate of the world when I was actually stewing about my own affairs. Maybe. But I never heard of a man with a blighty wound caring too much about how the battle turned out.

Anyhow, there did not seem much to worry about. I knew that the President had been saved under circumstances which would open up anybody's eyes, even a politician's, and that was, as I saw it, the last real hurdle. The slugs-the titans, that is-were dependent on secrecy; once out in the open they could not possibly hold out against the massed strength of the United States. They had no powers except those they borrowed from their slaves, as I knew better than anybody.

Now we could clean up their beachhead here; then we could go after them where they lived. But planning interplanetary expeditions was hardly my job. I knew as much about that subject as I knew about Egyptian art.

When the doctor released me I went looking for Mary. I still had nothing but the Old Man's word for it, but I had more than a suspicion that I had made a big hairy thing of myself. I did not expect her to be glad to see me, but I had to speak my piece.

You would think that a tall, handsome redhead would be as easy to find as fiat ground in Kansas. She would have been had she been a member of the in staff, but she was a field agent. Field agents come and go and the resident personnel are encouraged to mind their own business. Doris had not seen her again-so she said-and was annoyed that I should want to find her.

The personnel office gave me the bland brush off. I was not inquiring officially, I did not know the agent's name, and just who did I think I was, anyway? They referred me to Operations, meaning the Old Man. That did not suit me.

I had no more luck and met with even more suspicion when I tried the door tally; I began to feel like a spy in my own section.

I went to the bio lab, could not find its chief, and talked to an assistant. He did not know anything about a girl in connection with Project Interview; the subject had been a man-he knew; he had seen the stereo. I told him to take a close look at me. He did and said, "Oh, were you that guy? Pal, you sure took a beating." He went back to scratching himself and shuffling reports.

I left without saying thank you and went to the Old Man's office. There seemed to be no choice.

There was a new face at Miss Haines's desk. I never saw Miss Haines again after the night I got taken. Nor did I ask what had become of her; I did not want to know. The new secretary passed in my I.D. code and, for a wonder, the Old Man was in and would see me.

"What do you want?" he said grumpily.

I said, "Thought you might have some work for me," which was not at all what I intended to say.

"Matter of fact, I was just fixing to send for you. You've loafed long enough." He barked something at his desk phone, stood up and said, "Come!"

I felt suddenly at peace, and followed him. "Cosmetics?" I asked.

"Your own ugly face will do. We're headed for Washington." Nevertheless we did stop in Cosmetics, but only for street clothes. I drew a gun-my own had gone where the woodbine twineth-and had my phone checked.

The door guard made us bare our backs before he would let us approach and check out. Then we tucked our shirts in and went on up, coming out in the lower levels of New Philadelphia, the first I had known as to the location of the Section's new base. "I take it this burg is clean?" I said to the Old Man.

"If you do, you are rusty in the head," he answered. "Keep your eyes peeled."

There was no opportunity for more questions. The presence of so many fully clothed humans bothered me; I found myself drawing away from people and watching for round shoulders. Getting into a crowded elevator to go up to the launching platform seemed downright reckless. When we were in our car and the controls set, I said so. "What in the devil do the authorities in that dump think they are doing? I could swear that at least one cop we passed was wearing a hump."

"Possibly. Even probably."

"Well, for crying in church! What goes on? I thought you had this job taped and that we were fighting back on all fronts."

"We're trying to. What would you suggest we do about it?"

"Why, it's obvious-even if it were freezing cold, we ought not to see a back covered up anywhere, not until we know they are all dead."

"That's right."

"Well, then-Look, the President knows the score, doesn't he? I understand that-"

"He knows it."

"What's he waiting for? For the whole country to be taken over? He should declare martial law and get action. You told him, a long time ago."