nes snapped.

"A synthetic." Brent smiled just slightly. "In this case, men not born
of women. All this is detailed in the confidential report that will be
handed to you when you leave. The report, incidentally, is slanted in a
way that obscures its vital nature, but on the basis of what has been
said at this meeting, I'm sure you'll find all your answers."

Brent paused, waiting for questions. When none came, he said, "I guess
that about covers it, gentlemen--at least, all that we have at the
moment. You'll be kept informed. The meeting is adjourned."

He glanced around. "Oh, by the way, as you'll note in the confidential
report, this project will be identified as 'Operation Blue Sky.'"

"Where did they get that one?" Jones snorted.

"I don't know. The term originated higher up. Possibly," Brent murmured,
"because somewhere out in the blue sky lies the answer." His manner
changed and he glanced briskly around. "Would anyone care for a cup of
coffee?"

No one was interested in coffee and the group filed out.

* * * * *

Ten minutes later, the white-coated waiter came to pick up the things.
He crossed to the coffeepot, lifted it, and took a tiny device out of
the hidden space formed by the pot's legs and its bottom. This, he
slipped into his pocket before picking up the tray and going out as he'd
come.

3

Frank Corson got what was possibly the greatest shock of his life when
he walked into Ward Five and saw William Matson lying in bed. It wasn't
so much that he hadn't expected it. He had, because he was too firmly
locked in reality to believe the man he saw on the Upper East Side could
possibly have been the broken-legged Matson. Still, seeing Matson in bed
had the effect of bringing unreality into a realm where he had to cope
with it. Perhaps, during the trip back to the hospital, he'd been
mystically apprised of what lay ahead and wanted subconsciously to avoid
it. Perhaps his shock was a cringing away from facing a problem.

At the moment, of course, he didn't know what the problem was. There was
a mystery here, but only that, and his first thought was to report it to
higher authority--the business about the two hearts--and have it
investigated. With this thought in mind, he walked down the corridor and
reached for the knob of the door marked _Superintendent_.

But quite suddenly he stopped, reversed himself, and went back to Ward
Five. He approached Matson's bed a