The crisis was over. The crew had slept. And Madi­son now had other things to do.

In a seventy-sixth floor briefing room which General Loop had probably used to address his own staff, Madison had assembled his gang here today for purposes of his own.

They looked much better now: the men had shaved and cut their hair, the women were coiffed and made up. They were gaunt but good food would handle that. The prison pallor still showed through but a few days under sunlamps would turn them a more natural color. The stink was gone!

The cooks were lounging in the doors, the rest sat on chairs and benches. And all eyes were on Madison as he stood upon the raised platform at the front of the large room.

"I have gathered you together this afternoon," said Madison, "in order to clarify for you why you are really here. I am certain some of you have probably wondered, and the very essence of a team is a common purpose.

"Now, I know some of you were curious as to what PR man really meant. It does not mean 'parole officer': I just told them that so I could spring you."

The crew sat up more alertly. It made them feel better to know that they were not in the hands of just another Apparatus officer but with one who now seemed to be saying that he had other goals and might well be a master criminal in his own right, only using the Apparatus for some crooked purpose of his own. His popularity rose.

"The actual meaning of PR," continued Madison, "is PUBLIC RELATIONS. That is the activity in which you will now be engaged."

They nodded but now they looked puzzled. They had never heard of this. The only relations they had ever had with the public consisted of victimizing it.

"As this will be your work," said Madison, "I had better explain in detail."

Madison stood up very straight. His face began to glow. His own love of his subject took over. In a voice more suited to a cathedral, he said, "PR is one of the noblest pursuits of man!"

His audience was jolted. They stared at him wide-eyed.

Madison was off. His voice contained the caress of eulogy. "Public Relations is an art that FAR transcends mere painting and crass poetry."

The audience gawped.

"It is," crooned Madison, "the magic of telling people what to think and bludgeons them to change their minds."

A roustabout called out, "Now that's more like it, Do we hit soft to stun or hard to kill?"

Madison smiled a beautiful smile. "You always hit to kill."

The gang buzzed and nodded. "Got it," came from many voices. Then someone in an aside to his neighbor confided loudly, "That's what his Lieutenant Flick said last night. He's a killer! One of the greatest murderers of all time!"

Everyone began to applaud, even the cooks at the door. Then they stood and chanted, "The chief! The chief! The chief!" Madison, an expert at timing and stage presence, knew when speeches should end. He bowed.

The tumult had died down as the people were now departing.

Madison became aware of something. No Flick. He called out, "Where is Lieutenant Flick?"

The driver footwoman said, "He's in bed. He didn't even touch me. I can't do my job. I think he's down in the mouth. Even suicidal."

Madison, in alarm, immediately passed through the halls to the apartment which had been appropriated by Flick.

The man was lying with his face to the wall. He appeared to be completely caved in. Madison had to shake him by the shoulder to get any response.

"What's the matter?" said Madison.

"Life is over," muttered Flick.

"Why?" said Madison.

Flick moaned, "Don't ever rob a man of his dreams. It's death."

Madison looked down at him. The lethargy was pro­nounced. He knew he couldn't live with him in this con­dition. He thought fast.

"Don't you have any other dreams?" he said.

Flick groaned and then at length turned over on his back. "Just one, but it's impossible. I shouldn't even think of it."

"Tell me," said Madison.

"It's a dream I get and then always have to abandon. It's to meet Hightee Heller in person." Then he groaned, "But she has billions of fans. I couldn't even force my way through such a crowd. I haven't even ever been able to afford a ticket to her personal appearances. So forget I even mentioned it. No, life is over for poor Flick." And he turned back to the wall with an awful, shuddering sigh.

Madison went over to the window. The mammoth dome of Homeview was gleaming in the late day sun. Something clicked inside his head.

Lombar was trying to find Heller. Madison also had to know.

The orderly outline of a plan began to form on the glass before his eyes in Old Century 10-point type.

1. On some off chance, Hightee Heller might know where Heller-Wister is. If so, she might be tricked into telling Madison.

2. If she doesn't know, then she might have lines she can use-unwittingly, of course-to get somebody to tell her.

3. He would have to have an excuse to see her often so she could spillthe information to him when she got it.

Then suddenly, the whole sheet jacked up and a banner, 22 point, all caps, seemed to flow across the glass:

BUILD THE IMAGE

BEFORE YOU FIT

HELLER TO IT!

"YOWEEE!" shouted Madison. He sprang into the air, he danced around the room. He knew EXACTLY how to go about it now!

"What the Hells is happening?" said Flick, afraid that Madison had gone crazy.

Madison came to the side of the bed. He put on his most sincere and earnest look. "Flick," he said, "if I introduce you to Hightee Heller in person, will you give up trying to pull off robberies?"

Flick stared at him. Then he saw from the sincere and earnest look that Madison wasn't joking. "I'd have to," said Flick. "If I met Hightee Heller in person, I couldn't pull off no more robberies. I'd be a changed man!"

"Good," said Madison. "It's a bargain, then. If I see that you meet her in person, the crimes we do from here on out are only the ones that I order. Agreed?"

Flick nodded numbly, not daring to hope.

"All right," said Madison. "Get up and get dressed. We've got work to do!"

Madison rushed out, ecstatic with his plan.

Oh, he was really on his way now! The smell of eventual victory was in the very air! He could REALLY get on with his job with Heller!

The first thing Madison did was get from Flick the name of a certain type of crooked jeweler.

Flick and his footwoman got into the Model 99. Madison sprang into the back.

They flashed out of the hangar and sped across the sky, Slum City a vast smudge and sprawl in the distance, growing larger.

"I know this fellow personally," said Flick as he drove. "He's from Calabar like me. But we ain't never been in the same line really. He's rich, I'm poor. I robbed houses. He received the goods from thieves who looted tombs. The world thinks he's respectable and I know what they think of me: I got caught and wound up in the Apparatus. He married a jeweler's daughter and wound up owning a 'legitimate business.'"

Shortly Flick pointed out a square which looked to Madison like an island in the middle of a ghetto sea.

They landed and the Model 99 in all its glitter instantly attracted a swarm of tough-looking, hooting kids. Suddenly Madison was aware that this footwoman had other uses than being felt up. She was out of the car like a tiger. She had somehow gotten hold of a stinger. Her target was the biggest boy and he got the weapon in the teeth with a shower of sparks. He didn't get a chance to recoil more than a foot when the footwoman had him by the arm. In a sort of a whirling motion, she swung him-his feet left the ground-and like a scythe, used him to take out the whole front rank of hooters.

There was the departing rush of hasty feet. Into the dying echo of the screams, the footwoman thrust the stinger in the belt of her violet uniform and stepped to the door. She opened it with a bow. "Watch your step, sir. There's garbage."