Monroe-Alpha stepped back in surprise. "What did you do that for, Felix?" he cried. "What's up? Don't you trust me?"

Hamilton looked him up and down. "You fool," he said bitterly. "You utter, stupid, hysterical fool!"

"Thou, beside me, in the wilderness"

"FELIX! What do you mean? What's come over you?" His expression was so completely surprised, so utterly innocent of wrongdoing, that Hamilton was momentarily disconcerted. Was it possible that Monroe-Alpha, like himself, was in it as an agent of the government and knew that Hamilton was one also?

"Wait a minute," he said grimly. "What's your status here? Are you loyal to the Survivors Club, or are you in it as a spy?"

"A spy? Did you think I was a spy? Was that why you grabbed my gun?"

"No," Hamilton answered savagely, "I was afraid you weren't a spy."

"But-"

"Get this. I am a spy. I'm in this thing to bust it up. And, damn it, if I were a good one, I'd blow your head off and get on with my work. You bloody fool, you've gummed the whole thing up!"

"But ... but Felix, I knew you were in it. That was one of the things that persuaded me. I knew you wouldn't-"

"Well, I'm not! Where does that put you? Where do you stand? Are you with me, or against me?"

Monroe-Alpha looked from Hamilton's face to the gun in his fist, then back to his face. "Go ahead and shoot," he said.

"Don't be a fool!"

"Go ahead. I may be a fool-I'm not a traitor."

"Not a traitor-you! You've already sold out the rest of us."

Monroe-Alpha shook his head. "I was born into this culture. I had no choice and I owe it no loyalty. Now I've had a vision of a worthwhile society. I won't sacrifice it to save my own skin."

Hamilton swore. "'God deliver us from an idealist.' Would you let that gang of rats run the country?"

The telephone said softly but insistently, "Someone's calling. Someone's calling. Someone's-" They ignored it.

"They aren't rats. They propose a truly scientific society and I'm for it. Maybe the change will be a little harsh but that can't be helped. It's for the best-"

"Shut up. I haven't time to argue ideologies with you." He stepped toward Monroe-Alpha, who drew back a little, watching him.

Hamilton suddenly, without taking his eyes off Monroe-Alpha's face, kicked him in the groin. "Someone's calling. Someone's calling." Hamilton bolstered his gun-fast-bent over the disabled man and punched him in the pit of the stomach, not with-his fist but with stiffened fingers. It was nicely calculated to paralyse the diaphragm-and did. He dragged Monroe-Alpha to a point under the telephone, placed a knee in the small of his back, and seized his throat with the left hand.

"One move is all you'll get," he warned. With his right hand he cut in the phone. His face was close to the pick-up; nothing else would be transmitted.

McFee Norbert's face appeared in the frame. "Hamilton!" he said. "What in the hell are you doing there?"

"I went home with Monroe-Alpha."

"That's direct disobedience. You'll answer for it-later. Where's Monroe-Alpha?"

Hamilton gave a brief, false, but plausible, explanation.

"A fine time to have to do that," McFee commented. "Give him these orders: he is relieved from duty. Tell him to get far away and stay away for forty-eight hours. I've decided to take no chances with him."

"Right," said Hamilton.

"And you-do you realize how near you came to missing your orders? You should be in action ten minutes before the section group moves in. Get going."

"Now?"

"Now."

Hamilton cleared the circuit. Monroe-Alpha had started to struggle the second the phone came to life. Hamilton had ground his knee into his spine and clamped down hard on his throat, but it was a situation which could mot be maintained indefinitely.

He eased up on Monroe-Alpha a little. "You heard those orders?"

"Yes," Monroe-Alpha acknowledged hoarsely.

"You are going to carry them out. Where's your runabout?"

No answer. Hamilton dug in viciously. "Answer me. On the roof?"

"Yes."

Hamilton did not bother to answer. He took his heavy automatic from its holster and struck Monroe-Alpha behind his right ear. The man's head jerked once, then sagged limply. Hamilton turned to the phone and signalled Mordan's personal number. He waited apprehensively while distant machinery hunted, fearful that the report would come back, "NOWHERE AVAILABLE." He was relieved when the instrument reported instead, "Signalling."

After an interminable time-all of three or four seconds- Mordan's face lighted up the frame. "Oh-hello, Felix."

"Claude-the time's come! This is it."

"Yes, I know. That's why I'm here." The background behind him showed his office.

"You-knew?"

"Yes, Felix."

"But ... Never mind. I'm coming over."

"Yes, certainly." He cut off.

Hamilton reflected grimly that one more surprise would be just enough to cause him to start picking shadows off the wall. But he had no time to worry about it. He rushed into his friend's bedchamber, found what he wanted immediately-small pink capsules, Monroe-Alpha's habitual relief from the peril of sleepless worry. He returned then and examined Monroe-Alpha briefly. He was still out cold.

He picked him up in his arms, went out into the corridor, and sought the lift. He passed one startled citizen on the way. Hamilton looked at him, said, "Sssh-you'll waken him. Open the lift for me, will you please?"

The citizen looked dubious, shrugged, and did as he was requested.

He found Monroe-Alpha's little skycar without trouble, removed the key from his friend's pocket, and opened it. He dumped his burden inside, set the pilot for the roof of the Clinic, and depressed the impeller bar. He had done all he could for the moment; in over-city traffic automatic operation was faster than manual. It would be five minutes, or more, before he reached Mordan, but, even at that, he had saved at least ten minutes over what it would have taken by tube and slideway.

It consoled him somewhat for the time he had wasted on Monroe-Alpha.

The man was beginning to stir. Hamilton took a cup from the cooler, filled it with water, dissolved three of the capsules in it, and went to his side. He slapped him.

Monroe-Alpha sat up. "Whassa matter?" he said. "Stop it. What's happened?"

"Drink this." Hamilton put the cup to his lips.

"What happened? My head hurts."

"It ought to-you had quite a fall. Drink it. You'll feel better."

Monroe-Alpha complied docilely. When he had finished, Hamilton watched him narrowly, wondering if he would have to slug him again before the hypnotic took hold. But Monroe-Alpha said nothing more, seemed still dazed, and shortly was sleeping soundly.

The car grounded gently.

Hamilton raised the panel of the communicator, shoved his foot inside, and pushed. There was a satisfying sound of breaking crystal and snapping wires. He set the pilot on due South, without destination, opened the door, and stepped out. He turned, reached inside, sought the impeller bar-but hesitated without depressing it. He stepped back inside and removed the selector key from the pilot. He stepped out again, depressed the impeller-and ducked. As the door slammed shut, the little runabout angled straight up, seeking cruising altitude.

He did not wait for it to go out of sight, but turned and started below.

Monroe-Alpha awoke with a dry mouth, an excruciatingly throbbing head, a nauseous feeling at his midriff, and a sense of impending disaster. He became aware of things in that order.

He knew that he was in the air, in a skycar, and alone, but how had he gotten there, why he was there, escaped him. He had had some dreadful nightmares-they seemed to have some bearing on it. There was something he should be doing.