he professional ethics of privacy and non-publicity cover this
kind of situation?"

Pierce was smiling slightly with a touch of bitter humor. "It's
undiplomatic to tell you that, but yes, the contingency is covered.
There is nothing to connect myself with you as a case in any records,
nor anything to identify me as a member of the Manoba group contracted
by your company. The ethic of privacy is allowed to have no exceptions
for the family's record."

A cool curiosity held him. "Tell me--when you saw that I was beginning
to think, why didn't you just needle me down for a short nap and
leave?"

The smile remained. "I am supposed to control the shock of
realization, and make sure that it is assimilated without damage to
the subject." His dark expressionless eyes met Bryce's, and Bryce felt
the impact of them, and realized for the first time that there was the
same slight bitter off-hand smile on his own lips, and inwardly the
quiet ironical mood with the still clarity of a deep pool. His own
mood? He hefted the gun in his hand, feeling its weight and balance.
"You could have done that over the televiewer," he pointed out
dispassionately. "What is the average mortality, do you know?"

"Not high. It is only inexperience that is dangerous. If one can get
through one's first three or four cases, it's safe enough."

Looking back over the past days it was quite clear that Pierce had
control over his emotions. Any emotion Pierce chose him to feel he
would feel. It remained to be seen how much that could influence what
he was going to do. The dark-skinned young man stood before the desk
casually and answered questions with a slight restrained smile that
set the wry irony of both their minds.

A man does what he wants. That is freedom, but what he wanted could be
controlled apparently. A man _is_ what he wants. But what he wanted
could be changed. How easy had it been to change him. Bryce tried
himself with a thought of the power and glory of rule, the reign and
mastery of space--a goal that had warmed his thoughts for many years.

He didn't want it.

There was a numbness where there should have been emotion, and all he
could feel for his loss was the resignation and the faint bitter humor
permitted him by Pierce's smile. Watching that smile he shifted the
heavy little gun in his hand, turning it over casually, feeling its
familiar weight and the texture of its surfaces.

He spoke gently. "If you don't mind my asking, ha