Finally he said, "You know, Tom, identical twins are exceptionally interesting to psychologists—not to mention geneticists, sociologists, and biochemists. You start out from the same egg, as near alike as two organic complexes can be. Then you become two different people. Are the differences environmental? Or is there something else at work?"

I thought about this. "You mean the soul, Doctor?"

"Mmm... ask me next Wednesday. One sometimes holds personal and private views somewhat different from one's public and scientific opinions. Never mind. The point is that you m-r twins are interesting. I fancy that the serendipitous results of Project Lebensraum will, as usual, be far greater than the intended results."

"The "Sarah" what, Doctor?"

"Eh? 'Serendipitous.' The Adjective for "Serendipity." Serendipity means that you dig for worms and strike gold. Happens all the time in science. It is the reason why "useless" pure research is always so much more practical than 'practical' work. But let's talk about you. I can't help you with your problems—you have to do that yourself. But let's kick it around and pretend that I can, so as to justify my being on the payroll. Now two things stick out like a sore thumb: the first is that you don't like your brother."

I started to protest but he brushed it aside. "Let me talk.

Why are you sure that I am wrong? Answer: because you have been told from birth that you love him. Siblings always `love' each other; that is a foundation of our civilization like Mom's apple pie. People usually believe anything that they are told early and often. Probably a good thing they believe this one, because brothers and sisters often have more opportunity and more reason to hate each other than anyone else."

"But I like Pat. It's just—"

" 'It's just' what?" he insisted gently when I did not finish.

I did not answer and he went on, "It is just that you have every reason to dislike him. He has bossed you and bullied you and gabbed what he wanted. When he could not get it by a straight fight, he used your mother to work on your father to make it come his way. He even got the girl you wanted. Why should you like him? If a man were no relation-instead of being your twin brother—would you like him for doing those things to you? Or would you hate him?"

I didn't relish the taste of it. "I wasn't being fair to him, Doctor. I don't think Pat knew he was hogging things... and I'm sure our parents never meant to play favorites. Maybe I'm just feeling sorry for myself."

"Maybe you are. Maybe there isn't a word of truth in it and you are constitutionally unable to see what's fair when you yourself are involved. But the point is that this is the way you do feel about it... and you certainly would not like such a person—except that he is your twin brother, so of course you must 'love" him. The two ideas fight each other. So you will continue to be stirred up inside until you figure out which one is false and get rid of it. That's up to you."

"But... doggone it, Doctor, I do like Pat!"

"Do you? Then you had better dig out of your mind the notion that he has been handing you the dirty end of the stick all these years. But I doubt if you do. You're fond of him—we're all fond of things we are used to, old shoes, old pipes, even the devil we know is better than a strange devil. You're loyal to him. He's necessary to you and you are neces sary to him. But 'like' him? It seems most improbable. On the other hand, if you could get it through your head that there is no longer any need to 'love' him, nor even to like him, then you might possibly get to like him a little for what he is. You'll certainly grow more tolerant of him, though I doubt if you will ever like him much. He's a rather unlikeable cuss."

"That's not true! Pat's always been very popular."

"Not with me. Mmm... Torn, I cheated. I know your brother better than I let on. Neither one of you is very likeable, matter of fact, and you are very much alike. Don't take offense. I can't abide 'nice' people; 'sweetness and light' turns my stomach. I like ornery people with a good, hard core of self-interest—a lucky thing, in view of my profession. You and your brother are about equally selfish, only he is more successful at it. By the way, he likes you."

"Huh?"

"Yes. The way he would a dog that always came when called. He feels protective toward you, when it doesn't conflict with his own interests. But he's rather contemptuous of you; he considers you a weakling—and, in his book, the meek are not entitled to inherit the earth; that's for chaps like himself."

I chewed that over and began to get angry. I did not doubt that Pat felt that way about me—patronizing and willing to see to it that I got a piece of cake... provided that he got a bigger one.

"The other thing that stands out," Dr. Devereaux went on, "is that neither you nor your brother wanted to go on this trip."

This was so manifestly untrue and unfair that I opened my mouth and left it open. Dr. Devereaux looked at me. "Yes? You were about to say?"

"Why, that's the silliest thing I ever heard, Doctor! The only real trouble Pat and I ever had was because both of us wanted to go and only one of us could."

He shook his head. "You've got it backwards. Both of you wanted to stay behind and only one of you could. Your brother won, as usual."

"No, he didn't... well, yes, he did, but the chance to go; not the other way around. And he would have, too, if it hadn't been for that accident."

" 'That accident." Mmm... yes." Dr. Devereaux held still, with his head dropped forward and his hands folded across his belly, for so long that I thought again that he was asleep. "Tom, I'm going to tell you something that is none of your business, because I think you need to know. I suggest that you never discuss it with your twin... and if you do, I'll make you out a liar, net. Because it would he bad for him. Understand me?"

"Then don't tell me," I said surlily.

"Shut up and listen." He picked up a file folder. "Here is a report on your brother's operation, written in the talk we doctors use to confuse patients. You wouldn't understand it and, anyhow, it was sent sidewise, through the Santa Maria and in code. You want to know what they found when they opened your brother up?"

"Uh, not especially."

"There was no damage to his spinal cord of any sort."

"Huh? Are you trying to tell me that he was faking his legs being paralyzed? I don't believe it!"

"Easy, now. He wasn't faking. His legs were paralyzed. He could not possibly fake paralysis so well that a neurologist could not detect it. I examined him myself; your brother was paralyzed. But not from damage to his spinal cord—which I knew and the surgeons who operated on him knew."

"But—" I shook my head. "I guess I'm stupid."

"Aren't we all? Tom, the human mind is not simple; .it is very complex. Up at the top, the conscious mind has its own ideas and desires, some of them real, some of them impressed on it by propaganda and training and the necessity for putting up a good front and cutting a fine figure to other people. Down below is the unconscious mind, blind and deaf and stupid and sly, and with—usually—a different set of desires and very different motivations. It wants its own way ... and when it doesn't get it, it raises a stink until it is satisfied. The trick in easy living is to find out what your unconscious mind really wants and give it to it on the cheapest terms possible, before it sends you through emotional bank ruptcy to get its own way. You know what a psychotic is, Tom?"

"Uh... a crazy person."

"Crazy' is a word we're trying to get rid of, A psychotic is a poor wretch who has had to sell out the shop and go naked to the world to satisfy the demands of his unconscious mind. He's made a settlement, but it has ruined him. My job is to help people make settlements that won't ruin them—like a good lawyer, We never try to get them to evade the settlement, just arrange it on the best terms.