dents or diplomats. It wasn't much, but it was all in the
right direction. At least Pell felt so.

Rysland was saying: "We're not sure, of course, but we suspect--we
_feel_--that more than mere accident may be behind these Supremists."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Someone seeking power, perhaps. As I said, we don't know. We want to
find out. Dr. Nebel has been interested for some time in the curious
psychology of these Supremists--their blind, unthinking loyalty to their
cause, for instance. He is, as you know, a special assistant in the
Department of Education. He asked my help in arranging for an
investigation, and I agreed with him wholeheartedly that one should be
made."

"And I told these gentlemen," said Chief Larkin, "that I'd put a detail
on it right away."

Now Pell believed he saw through it. Larkin didn't believe it was
important at all; he was just obliging these Vips. A man couldn't have
too many friends in World Government circles, after all. But of course
Larkin couldn't afford to put one of his bright, machine-minded boys on
it, and so Pell was the patsy.

"Could I remind you," said Pell, "that my vacation is supposed to start
tomorrow?"

"Now, now, Dick," said Larkin, turning on the personality, "this won't
take you long. Just a routine report. The computers ought to give you
all the information you need in less than a day."

"That's what you always say, every time I'm ready to take a vacation.
I've been saving up for two years now...."

"Dick, that's hardly the right attitude for an agent who is so close to
making second grade."

Larkin had him over a barrel, there. Pell desperately wanted to make his
promotion. Second-graders didn't spend their time at the control banks
gathering data; they did mostly desk work and evaluation. They had a
little more time to spend with their wives. He said, "Okay, okay," and
got up.

"Where are you going?"

"To get my wife on the viewer and tell her I won't be home for a while
after all."

He left the three of them chuckling and thought: _He jests at scars who
never felt a wound._ He didn't say it aloud. You could quote formulae or
scientific precepts in front of Larkin, but not Shakespeare.

* * * * *

He punched out his home number and waited until Ciel's image swirled
into the viewplate. His heart went boppety-bop as it always did. Hair of
polished gold. Dark eyes, ripe olives, a little large for her face and
som