Chamber to be banished from Earth forever, such banishment to be
carried out by the United Nations Penology Service at the Queen's
pleasure."

The words that were running through Houston's brain, had been
transmitted easily to Dorrine. For a moment, neither of them made any
comment. Then Houston glanced at his watch.

_Twenty-one minutes_, he thought bitterly. _What took them so long?_

* * * * *

High in the thin ionosphere, seventy miles above the surface of the
Earth, a fifteen-hundred-mile-an-hour rocket airliner winged its way
westward across the Atlantic, pushing herself forward on the thin,
whispering, white-hot jets of her atomic engine. Behind her, the
outdistanced sun sank slowly below the eastern horizon.

David Houston wasn't watching the sunrise-in-reverse; he was sitting
quietly in his seat, still trying to puzzle out his queer recall to New
York. When Hamilton had told him about it over the phone, he'd assumed
that New York, having been notified that Harris had been captured, had
decided to send for Houston, now that his job was over.

But now he knew that the order had come through nearly twenty-four hours
before Harris was captured.

Did someone at UN Headquarters know that Harris was going to be
captured? Or did someone there suspect that there was something odd
about Police Operative David Houston?

Or both?

Whatever it was, Houston would have to take his chances; to act
suspiciously would be a deadly mistake.

A stewardess, clad in the chic BOAC uniform, moved down the aisle,
quietly informing the passengers that they could have coffee served at
their seats or take breakfast in the lounge. The atmosphere of the
plane's interior was filled with the low murmur of a hundred
conversations against the background of the susurrant mutter of the
mighty engines.

_Uhhh--uh--uh--dizzy--head hurts--uh--uh--_

The sounds in the plane altered subtly as the faint thought insinuated
itself on every brain inside the aircraft. None of the Normal passengers
recognized it for what it was; it was too gentle, too weak, to be
recognized directly by their minds.

But David Houston recognized it instantly for what it was.

Somewhere on the plane, a Controller had been unconscious. _Had_ been.
For now, his powerful mind was trying to swim up from the black depths
of nothingness.

_Uh--uhhhh--uhh--_

The Normal passengers became uneasy, not knowing why they were
disturbed