tter now, Max, dear. I thought Eric had what I
needed. But I was misjudging you all along."

"You're still misjudging me, Ann. I'm going to smash this machine and
afterward--"

"No you aren't, Max," she said coldly. "I'll kill you first."

Calmly she turned the dial on the blaster. He lifted the chair again,
watching her face, still unable to accept what he knew was true. This
was Ann Saymer, the woman he had loved. It was the same Ann whose
ambition had driven her from the general school to a First in
Psychiatry.

With a fighting man's instinct, Hunter calculated his chances as he
held the chair high above his head. It was Ann who had to die. He
would accomplish nothing if he smashed her transmitter. She knew how
to build another. If he threw the chair at her rather than the
Exorciser and if he threw it hard enough--

From the door a fan of flame blazed out, gently touching Ann. She
stood rigid in the first muscular tension of paralysis. Hunter dropped
the chair, shattering the transmitter. He turned and saw Dawn in the
doorway. Somewhere deep in his subconscious mind he had expected her.
He was glad she was there.

"We've known for a long time we would have to break up their little
partnership," Dawn explained. "After I talked to you this morning,
Captain, I persuaded the others to hold off for another day or so. A
clinical experiment of my own.

"It was unkind of me, I suppose, to make you the guinea pig. But I
wanted to watch your reactions while you fought your way to the truth.
Now you know it all--more than you bargained for. And you know what
we're trying to do. Are you willing to join us?"

He looked at her.

"In your third alternative--the cautious, rational rebuilding?"

"After men understand themselves. When we're able to answer one
question: why did you and Ann Saymer, with identical backgrounds, and
intelligence, and an identical socio-economic incentive, become such
different personalities? What gives you a zero-zero adjustment index
that nothing can shake? Not the psychiatric shock of war, Captain. Not
physical pain alone or the treachery of the girl you love. We need
you, Captain. We need to know what makes you tick."

"That 'we' of yours. Just what does that embrace?"

"A cross-section of us all," she told him. "Psychiatrists, executives
in both cartels, union officials. We've been working at this for a
good many years. We want to make our world over, yes. But this time
with reason and