ed wearily and gave his coat and typewriter a cursory
check, then motioned him on. He strode across the wet field, scowling at
the fog, toward the dimmed-out waiting rooms.

He found a mailing chute, and popped the mailing tube down the slot as
if he were glad to be rid of it. Into the speaker he said: "Special
Delivery. PIB business. It goes to press tonight."

The female voice from the speaker said something, and the red "clear"
signal blinked. Shandor slipped off his hat and shook it, then stopped
at a coffee machine and extracted a cup of steaming stuff from the
bottom after trying the coin three times. Finally he walked across the
room to an empty video booth, and sank down into the chair with an
exhausted sigh. Flipping a switch, he waited several minutes for an
operator to appear. He gave her a number, and then said, "Let's scramble
it, please."

"Official?"

He showed her the card, and settled back, his whole body tired. He was a
tall man, rather slender, with flat, bland features punctuated only by
blond caret-shaped eyebrows. His grey eyes were heavy-lidded now, his
mouth an expressionless line as he waited, sunk back into his coat with
a long-cultivated air of lifeless boredom. He watched the screen without
interest as it bleeped a time or two, then shifted into the familiar
scrambled-image pattern. After a moment he muttered the Public
Information Board audio-code words, and saw the screen even out into the
clear image of a large, heavyset man at a desk.

"Hart," said Shandor. "Story's on its way. I just dropped it from the
Airport a minute ago, with a rush tag on it. You should have it for the
morning editions."

The big man in the screen blinked, and his heavy face lit up. "The story
on the Rocket Project?"

Shandor nodded. "The whole scoop. I'm going home now." He started his
hand for the cutoff switch.

"Wait a minute--" Hart picked up a pencil and fiddled with it for a
moment. He glanced over his shoulder, and his voice dropped a little.
"Is the line scrambled?"

Shandor nodded.

"What's the scoop, boy? How's the Rocket Project coming?"

Shandor grinned wryly. "Read the report, daddy. Everything's just ducky,
of course--it's all ready for press. You've got the story, why should I
repeat it?"

Hart scowled impatiently. "No, no-- I mean the _scoop_. The real stuff.
How's the Project going?"

"Not so hot." Shandor's face was weary. "Material cutoff is holding them
up something awful. Amon