you keep your notes in a
private system of shorthand?"

"No. I write them in Coptic. For the sake of privacy."

"What's Coptic?"

"A dead language, spoken by the ancient Egyptians thirty or forty
centuries ago."

"But you're Research, not Linguistics! It's against the law for you to
know other languages. Are you a traitor?"

"My dear Leah," he said, "I'm far too sensible a man to go in for
bootleg study, to learn anything without permission. I have no wish to
end up with a pick-ax in my hands. But you shouldn't tax your little
mind with thinking. It's not your job. You're not equipped for it, and
it's dangerous."

* * * * *

David passed the watchguard stationed in the basement corridor, walked
through the open door of the laboratory, past the bench where a row of
pretty technicians sat making serial dilutions of bacterial and virus
suspensions, through the glow of the sterilizing room, and on into the
small inner lab where flasks of culture media and developing hens' eggs
sat in a transparent incubator, and petri dishes flecked with spots of
color awaited his inspection.

Dr. Karl Haslam was standing at the work bench, with a pair of silver
forceps which held a small egg under the psi light. Gently he lowered
the egg into its warm observation chamber, covered the container, and
sat down.

"Well, here I am. What's gone wrong? Explain yourself, my boy."

"Just a minute." Grinning maliciously, David took down a bottle from the
shelf of chemicals, poured a colorless liquid into a beaker, and walked
casually toward the doorway as he agitated the mixture of hydrogen
sulphide and mercaptans. He held his breath, then coughed, when the
fumes of putrescence filled the room and drifted out the door. He looked
into the technician's room.

"Sorry for the aroma, girls, but this is a vital experiment."

"Can't you at least shut the door?" one called pleadingly.

"Explain to the watchguard out there, will you?" Closing the door, he
turned on the ventilator and sat down beside Dr. Haslam.

"Why all the melodrama?" Karl asked, baffled. "First you call me by
emergency code, then you hole in like a conspirator. I'm beginning to
think you're a great loss to Theater. What's happened? Why is it later
than I think?"

"Do you take everything as a joke, Karl?"

"Certainly, until I'm forced to do otherwise. What's worrying you?"

"I'm afraid of being arrested for treason. Don't laugh! This mo