"Did I say we were so restricted?" answered Sark, smiling for the first time. "You cannot imagine what a fresh vegetable means on a professor's table in Moscow. In Atomgrad a ripe tomato is worth a pound of uranium. How do I know? Because I walked the streets of Atomgrad with my grandfather." "Then you're a--" Sark's face grew hard and bitter in the half light of the room. "Was," he corrected. "Or might have been. There are no nationalities where there are no nations, no political parties where there are only hunger and death. The crime of the future is not any person's or country's. It is the whole of humanity's." An alarm sounded abruptly. "Carlson!" someone tensely exclaimed. Sark whirled to the panels and adjusted the controls. A small screen lighted, showing the image of a man with graying hair and imperious face. His sharp eyes seemed to burn directly into Curt's. "How did it go?" exclaimed Sark. "Was the Prime Continuum shift as expected?" "No! It still doesn't compute out. Nothing's right. The war is still going on. The Continuum is absolute hell." "I should have known," said Sark in dismay. "I should have called you." "What is it? Do you know what's wrong?" "Johnson. Dr. Curtis Johnson. He's here." * * * * * Rage spread upon Carlson's face. An oath exploded from his lips. "No wonder the situation doesn't compute with him out of the Prime Continuum. Why did he come there?" "Dell sent him. Dell died too quickly. He didn't have time to instruct Johnson. I have told him what we want of him." "Do you understand?" Carlson demanded of Curt with abruptness that was almost anger. Curt looked slowly about the room and back to the face of his questioner. Understand? If they sent him back, allowed him to go back, could he ever be sure that he had not witnessed a thing of nightmare in this shadowy dream world? Yes, he could be sure. He had seen the blasted city, just the way he knew it could be--_would_ be unless someone prevented it. He had seen the pattern on the scope, attuned to the tiny tributary of the Prime Continuum that was the life of Dr. Dell, had seen it run out, dying as Dell had died. He could believe, too, that there was a little farm near Atomgrad, where a tomato on a scientist's table was more potent than the bombs building in the arsenal. "I understand," he said. "Shall I go back now?" Sark put a paper into his hands. "Here is a list of new names. You will find Dell's procedures and records in his desk at the farm. Do not underestimate the importance of your work. You have seen the failure of the Prime Continuum to compute properly with you out of it. You will correct that. "Your only contact from now on will be through Brown, who will bring the tank truck once a year. You know what to do. You are on your own."