Seriously though, I'd like to be there when theyhit the Outer Five—and On Out. Not because of thebogus balonus in the throwaways, and suchlike crud,but because I think someone of sensibility shouldbe along to chronicle the thing in the proper way.You know, raw frontier observer. Francis Parkman.Mary Austin, like that. So I decided I'm going.

The AF boy with the. chicken stuff on hisshoulders wasn't in the least way patronizing, godsbe praised. We stood on the balcony and watchedships lift off and he told me to go forth and study realhard and I might be riding them someday. I did notbother to tell him that I'm hardly intellectually deficient and that I'll have my B.A. before I'm oldenough to do anything with it, even join his Corps.I just watched the ships lift off and said, "Ten yearsfrom now I'll be looking down, not up." Then hetold me how hard his own training had been, so Idid not ask howcum he got stuck with a lousy dirtside assignment like this one. Glad I didn't, now Ithink on it. He looked more like one of their adsthan one of their real people. Hope I never looklike an ad.

Thank you for the monies and the warm sox andMozart's String Quintets, which I'm hearing rightnow. I wanna put in my bid for Luna instead ofEurope next summer. Maybe ... ? Possibly ... ?Contingently ... ? Huh?—If I can smash that newtest you're designing for me ... ? Anyhow, pleasethink about it.

Your son,Pete

"Hello. State Psychiatric Institute."

"I'd like to make an appointment for an examination."

"Just a moment. I'll connect you with the Appointment Desk."

"Hello. Appointment Desk."

"I'd tike to make an appointment for an examination."

"Just a moment... What sort of examination."

"I want to see Doctor Shallot, Eileen Shallot. As soonas possible."

"Just a moment. 1*11 have to check her schedule ...Could you make it at two o'clock next Tuesday?"

"That would be just fine."

"What is the name, please?"

"DeVille. Jill DeVille-

"All right. Miss DeVille. That's two o'clock, Tuesday."

"Thank you."

The man walked beside the highway. Cars passed alongthe highway. The cars in the high-acceleration laneblurred by.

Traffic was light.

It was 10;30 in the morning, and cold.

The man's fur-lined collar was turned up, his handswere in his pockets, and he leaned into the wind. Beyondthe fence, the road was clean and dry.

The morning sun was buried in clouds. In the dirtylight, the man could see the tree a quarter mile ahead.

His pace did not change. His eyes did not leave thetree. The small stones clicked and crunched beneath hisshoes.

When he reached the tree he took off his jacket andfolded it neatly.

He placed it upon the ground and climbed the tree.

As be moved out onto the limb which extended overthe fence, he looked to see that no traffic was approaching. Then he seized the branch with both hands, loweredhimself, hung a moment, and dropped onto the highway.

It was a hundred yards wide, the eastbound half ofthe highway.

He glanced west, saw there was still no traffic cominghis way, then began to walk toward the center island. Heknew he would never reach it. At this time of day thecars were moving at approximately one hundred-sixtymiles an hour in the high-acceleration lane. He walkedon.

A car passed behind him. He did not look back. If thewindows were opaqued, as was usually the case, then theoccupants were unaware he had crossed their path. Theywould hear of it later and examine the front end of theirvehicle for possible sign of such an encounter.

A car passed in front of him. Its windows were clear.A glimpse of two faces, their mouths made into 0's, waspresented to him, then torn from his sight. His own faceremained without expression. His pace did not change.Two more care rushed by, windows darkened. He hadcrossed perhaps twenty yards of highway.

Twenty-five...

Something in the wind, or beneath his feet, told himit was coming. He did not look.

Something in the corner ofJiis eye assured him it wascoming. His gait did not alter.

Cecil Green had the windows transpared because heliked it that way. His left hand was inside her blouse andher skirt was piled up on her lap, and his right hand wasresting on the lever which would lower the seats. Thenshe pulled away, making a noise down inside her throat.

His head snapped to the left.

He saw the walking man.

He saw the profile which never turned to face himfully. He saw that the man's gait did not alter.

Then he did not see the roan.

There was a slight jar, and the windshield began cleaning itself. Cecil Green raced on.

He opaqued the windows.

"How ...?'* he asked after she was in his arms again,and sobbing.

"The monitor didn't pick him up...."

"He must not have touched the fence...."

"He must have been out of his mindl"

"Still, he could have picked an easier way."It could have been any face ... Mine?Frightened, Cecil lowered the seats.

Charles Render was writing the "Necropolis" chapterfor The Missing Link is Man. which was to be his firstbook in over four years. Since his return he had set asideevery Tuesday and Thursday afternoon to work on it,isolating himself in his office, filling pages with a chaoticlonghand.

"There are many varieties of death, as opposed todying ..." he was writing, just as the intercom buzzedbriefly, then long, then briefly again.

"Yes?" he asked it, pushing down on the switch.

"You have a visitor," and there was a short intake ofbreath between "a" and "visitor."

He slipped a small aerosol into his side pocket, thenrose and crossed the office.

He opened the door and looked out.

"Doctor ... Help . .."

Render took three steps, then dropped to one knee.

"What's the matter?"

"Come—she is ... sick," he growled.

"Sick? How? What's wrong?"

"Don't know. You come."

Render stared into the unhuman eyes.

"What kind of sick?" he insisted.

"Don't know," repeated the dog. "Won't talk. Sits.I... feel, she is sick."

"How did you get here?"

"Drove. Know the co, or, din, ates ... Left car, outside."

"I'll call her right now." Render turned.

"No good. Won't answer."

He was right.

Render returned to his inner office for his coat andmedkit. He glanced out the window and saw where hercar was parked, far below, just inside the entrance to the 'r.marginal, where the monitor had released it into manual ^control. If no one assumed that control a car was auto- H;,matically parked in neutral. The other vehicles werepassed around it.

So simple even a dog can drive one, he reflected. Better get downstairs before a cruiser comes along. It's prob-ably reponed itself stopped there already. Maybe not,though. Might still have a few minutes grace.

He glanced at the huge clock.

"Okay, Sig," he called out. "Let's go."

They took the lift to the ground floor, left by way ofthe front entrance and hurried to the car.

Its engine was still idling.

Render opened the passengerside door and Sigmundleaped in. He squeezed by him into the driver's seatthen, but the dog was already pushing the primary coordinates and the address tabs with his paw.

Looks like I'm in the wrong seat.

He lit a cigarette as the car swept ahead into aU-underpass. It emerged on the opposite marginal, satpoised a moment, then joined the traffic flow. The dog directed the car into the high-acceleration lane.

"Oh," said the dog, "oh."

Render felt like patting his head at that moment, buthe looked at him, saw that his teeth were bared, anddecided against it.

"When did she start acting peculiar?" he asked.

"Came home from work. Did not eat. Would not answer me when I talked. Just sits."