'Why?' Terror-stricken, she gazed up at him.

'So I can get out of this. Before one of us—'

'I won't spend any more money.'

'There's a war on. Men are being killed. Molinari is sick and he needs medical help. Whether you spend money or not—'

'But you asked for this job.'

Presently he said, 'I begged for it, as a matter of fact. I gave Virgil the greatest line of hot fizz ever strung together at one time in one place.'

She had drawn herself together now; she had become poised. 'What sort of pay will you receive?'

'Plenty. And I'll continue to draw a salary from TF&D, too.'

'Is there any way I can come with you?'

'No.' He had seen to that.

'I knew you'd dump me when you finally became a success – you've been trying to extricate yourself ever since we met.' Kathy's eyes filled with tears. 'Listen, Eric; I'm afraid that that drug I took is addictive. I'm terribly scared. You have no idea what it does; I think it comes from somewhere off Earth, maybe Lilistar. What if I kept taking it? What if because of your leaving—'

Bending, he picked her up in his arms. 'You ought to keep away from those people; I've told you so goddam many times—' it was futile talking to her; he could see what lay ahead for both of them. Kathy had a weapon by which she could draw him back to her once more. Without him she would be destroyed by her involvement with Plout, Hastings, and company; leaving her would simply make the situation worse. The sickness that had entered them over the years could not be nullified by the act he had in mind, and only in the Martian babyland could he have imagined otherwise.

He carried her into the bedroom and set her gently on the bed.

'Ah,' she said, and shut her eyes. 'Oh Eric—' She sighed.

However, he couldn't. This, too. Miserably, he moved from her, sat on the edge of the bed. 'I have to leave TF&D,' he said presently. 'And you have to accept it.' He stroked her hair. 'Molinari is cracking up; maybe I can't help him but at least I can try. See? That's the real—'

Kathy said, 'You're lying.'

'When? In what way?' He continued stroking her hair but it had become a mechanical action, without volition or desire.

'You would have made love to me just now, if that was why you were leaving.' She rebuttoned her dress. 'You don't care about me.' Her voice held certitude; he recognized the drab, thin tone. Always this barrier, this impossibility of getting through. This time he did not waste his time trying; he simply went on stroking her, thinking, It'll be on my conscience, whatever happens to her. And she knows it, too. So she's absolved of the burden of responsibility, and that, for her, is the worst thing possible.

Too bad, he thought, I wasn't able to make love to her.

'My dinner's ready,' he said, rising.

She sat up. 'Eric, I'm going to pay you back for leaving me.' She smoothed her dress. 'You understand?'

'Yes,' he said, and walked into the kitchen.

'I'll devote my life to it,' Kathy said, from the bedroom. 'Now I have a reason for living. It's wonderful to have a purpose at last; it's thrilling. After all these pointless ugly years with you. God, it's like being born all over again.'

'Lots of luck,' he said.

'Luck? I don't need luck; I need skill, and I think I have skill. I learned a lot during that episode under the effects of that drug. I wish I could tell you what it is; it's an incredible drug, Eric – it changes your entire perception of the universe and especially of other people. You don't ever view them the same again. You ought to try it. It would help you.'

'Nothing,' he said, 'would help me.'

His words, in his ears, sounded like an epitaph.

He had almost finished packing – and had long since eaten – when the doorbell of the conapt rang. It was Otto Dorf, already here with the military 'copter, and Eric soberly went to open the door for him.

Glancing about the conapt, Dorf said, 'Did you have an opportunity to say good-by to your wife, doctor?'

'Yes.' He added, 'She's gone now; I'm alone.' He closed his suitcase and carried it and its companion to the door. 'I'm ready.' Dorf picked up one suitcase and together they walked to the elevator. 'She did not take it very well,' he remarked to Dorf as they presently descended.

'I'm unmarried, doctor,' Dorf said. 'I wouldn't know.' His manner was correct and formal.

In the parked 'copter another man waited. He held out his hand as Eric ascended the rungs. 'Doctor; it's good to meet you.' The man, hidden in the shadows, explained, 'I'm Harry Teagarden, chief of the Secretary's medical staff. I'm glad you're joining us; the Secretary hadn't informed me in advance but that's no matter – he invariably acts on impulse.'

Eric shook hands with him, his mind still on Kathy. 'Sweet-scent.'

'How did Molinari's condition strike you when you met him?'

'He seemed tired.'

Teagarden said, 'He's dying.'

Glancing at him swiftly, Eric said, 'From what? In this day and age, with artiforgs available—'

I am familiar with current surgical techniques; believe me.' Teagarden's tone was dry. 'You saw how fatalistic he is. He wants to be punished, obviously, for leading us into this war.' Teagarden was silent as the 'copter ascended into the night sky and then he continued, 'Did it ever occur to you that Molinari engineered the losing of this war? That he wants to fail? I don't think even his most rabid political enemies have tried that idea out. The reason I'm saying this to you is that we don't have bales of time. Right at this moment Molinari is in Cheyenne suffering from a massive attack of acute gastritis – or whatever you care to call it. From your holiday at Wash-35. He's flat on his back.'

'Any internal bleeding?'

'Not yet. Or perhaps there has been and Molinari hasn't told us. With him it's possible; he's naturally secretive. Essentially he trusts nobody.'

'And you're positive there's no malignancy?'

'We can't find any. But Molinari doesn't allow us to conduct as many tests as we would like; he bolts. Too busy. Papers to sign, speeches to write, bills to present to the General Assembly. He tries to run everything singlehandedly. He can't seem to delegate authority and then when he does he sets up overlapping organizations that immediately compete – it's his way of protecting himself.' Teagarden glanced curiously at Eric. 'What did he say to you at Wash-35?'

'Not much.' He did not intend to disclose the contents of their discussion. Molinari had beyond doubt meant it for his ears exclusively. In fact, Eric realized, that was the cardinal reason for being brought to Cheyenne. He had something to offer Molinari that the other medics did not, a strange contribution for a doctor to be making... he wondered how Teagarden would react if he were to tell him. Probably – and for good reason – Teagarden would have him put under arrest. And shot.

'I know why you're going to be with us,' Teagarden said.

Eric grunted. 'You do?' He doubted it.

'Molinari is simply following his instinctive bias, having us double-checked by infusing new blood into our staff. But no one objects; in fact we're grateful – we're all overworked. You know, of course, that the Secretary has a huge family, even larger than that of Virgil Ackerman, your paterfamilias-style former employer.'

'I believe I've read it's three uncles, six cousins, an aunt, a sister, an elderly brother who—'

'And they're all in residence at Cheyenne,' Teagarden said. 'Constantly so. Hanging around him, trying to wangle little favors, better meals, quarters, servants – you get the pic. And—' He paused. 'I should add there's a mistress.'

That Eric did not know. It had never been mentioned, even in the press hostile to the Secretary.

'Her name is Mary Reineke. He met her before his wife's death. On paper Mary's listed as a personal secretary. I like her. She's done a lot for him, both before and after his wife's death. Without her he probably wouldn't have survived. The 'Starmen loathe her ... I don't quite know why. Perhaps I've missed out on some fact.'