“Ah, this cheap watch begins to tick. I might look at it and yawn, but if you—”

“I don’t think you’d better view it, Ivo.”

“Anyway, I admit it’s a pretty neat roadblock. If you’re dumb, you lose; if you’re smart, you become dumb.”

“Yes. The question is, what is it hiding? We have to know. Now that we’ve felt its effect, we can’t simply ignore it. If an elementary progression visually presented after being filtered through our own computer can do this, what other nasty surprises are in store? We can’t be certain the danger is confined to the programmed broadcast. There may be worse traps lurking elsewhere. That may be why the probs lost their nerve.”

“Worse than imposed idiocy?”

“Suppose someone came through it, but subtly warped — so that he felt the need to destroy the world. There are those at this station who very well might do it, given the proper imperative. Someone like Kovonov — he just may be more intelligent than I am, and he’s a lot more experienced. The scope could provide him with exact information on military secrets, key personnel — or perhaps he could derive some incomprehensible weapon…”

“I finally begin to see your need for Schön.”

Brad removed the headpiece, blinked at Ivo, and nodded. “Will you — ?”

“Sorry, no.”

“You aren’t convinced? I can document everything I’ve told you. We have to have access to the information available from space, from this Type II source. We fear that mankind will not bring down its birthrate or reduce its population in any other disciplined fashion, or even make sane use of the world’s expiring resources. The problem is sociological, not physical, and no dictated solution we can presently conceive will overcome that barrier. We must go to the material and technology of the stars, before we begin — literally — eating ourselves. There is no salvation on Earth. The macroscope evidence — you’ve seen just some of it — is inarguable.”

Ivo remained recalcitrant. “All right — all right! I accept that, for the moment. I’m just not sure yet that the situation requires this measure.”

“I don’t see how else I can put it, Ivo. Schön is the only one I believe has a chance to handle it. We don’t dare tune in that band on the macroscope until we clear this up, and if any of it extends into the peripheral—”

“I didn’t say no-final. I said no-presently. I don’t have enough information, yet. I’d like to take a look at those casualties, for one thing. And the mind-blasting series. Then I’ll think about it.”

“The casualties, sure. The sequence, no.”

“I have a notion, Brad. How about letting me work it out my own way?”

Brad sighed, covering his frustration with banter. “You always did, junior. Stubbornest mortal I know. If you weren’t my only key to Schön—”

It was no insult. They both knew the reason for that stubbornness.

Afra Summerfield was waiting for them at the torus airlock. She spoke to Brad as soon as his helmet came off: “Kovonov wants to see you right away.”

Brad turned immediately to Ivo. “That Russian doesn’t chat for the joy of it. There’s trouble already, probably political, probably American, or he wouldn’t ask for me. I have to run. You won’t object if I dump you on Afra?” He was out of his suit and moving away as he spoke.

Who was this Kovonov who compelled such alacrity?

Ivo looked at Afra, and found her as stunning as before. She was in a blue coverall, with a matching ribbon tying back her hair, the whole almost matching her bright eyes. The astonishing revelations in connection with the macroscope had diverted his mind from her for an hour, but now he was smitten with renewed force.

“Take your time!” he yelled magnanimously, but Brad was already in the elevator. Afra smiled fleetingly, showing a dimple and striking another chord upon his fancy.

Ivo did not believe in love at first sight, ridiculous as it was to remind himself of that now. He did not believe in coveting one’s neighbors things, either, but Afra overwhelmed him. It was a measure of Brad’s confidence in himself that he flaunted her so casually, heedless of her impact on other men.

“I suppose I’d better show you the common room,” she said. “He’ll look there first for us, when he’s free.”

The thought of accompanying her anywhere in any guise excited him. The imponderables of mankind’s future receded into the background as Afra preempted the foreground. For the moment, her person and her attention belonged to him, however casual the connection might be. There was pleasure merely in walking with such a beautiful girl, and he hoped the tour would be a long one.

“Are you going to help us, Ivo?” she inquired, the implied intimacy of her use of his first name sending another irrational thrill through him. He felt adolescent.

“What did Brad tell you about me?” he countered. Her perfume, this close, was the delicate breath of a single opening rose.

She guided him to the elevator, now returned from Brad’s hasty use. “Not very much, I must admit. Just that you were a friend from one of the projects, and he needed you to get in touch with another friend from another project. Shane.”

He had not realized before how small these elevators were. She had to stand very close to him, so that her right breast nudged his arm. It’s only cloth touching cloth, he thought, but couldn’t believe it. “That’s Schön, with the umlaut over the O. The German word for—”

“Why of course!” she exclaimed, delighted. Her intake of breath delighted him, too, but for an irrelevant reason. “That never occurred to me — and I have spoken German since I was a girl.”

She was still a girl, as he was acutely aware. He felt the need to keep the conversation going. “Do you speak any other languages?” Adolescent? Infantile!

“Oh, yes, of course. Mostly the Indo-European family — Russian, Spanish, French, Persian — but I’m working on Arabic and Chinese, the written form of the latter for now, since it covers so many spoken forms. The Chinese symbols are based on meaning rather than phonetics, you know, and that presents a different set of problems. I feel so parochial when Brad teases me with Melanesian or Basque or an Algonquin dialect. I hope you’re not another of those fluent linguists—”

“I flunked Latin in high school.”

She laughed.

Ivo tried to untangle the physical reaction he experienced from the intellectual content of their conversation, afraid of a Freudian slip. “No, I mean it. ‘Schön’ is the only foreign word I know.”

She studied him with perplexed concern. “Is it a — a mental block? You’re good at some things, but not at—”

The elevator ride finally ended, and she disengaged her torso from his. They climbed into a cart. Now it was her thigh that distracted him, wedged against his. Could she be unaware of the havoc she wrought along his nerve connections — his synapses? “I guess Brad didn’t tell you about that. I’m no genius. I am pretty good at certain types of reasoning, the way some feeble-minded people can do complex mathematical tricks in their heads or play championship chess — but apart from that I’m a pretty ordinary guy with ordinary values. I guess you thought I was like Brad, huh?” Fat chance!

She had the grace to blush. “I guess I did, Ivo. I’m sorry. I heard so much about Schön; then you came—”

“What did he tell you about Schön?”

“That would fill a small manual by itself. How did you come to meet him, Ivo?”

“Schön? I never did meet him, really.”

“But—”

“You know about the projects? The one he—”

She looked away, and the loose ponytail flung out momentarily to brush his cheek. Is she a conscious flirt? No, she was being natural; he was the one, reacting. “Yes,” she said, “Brad told me about that too. How Schön was in the — free-love community. Only—”