The old man snorted with good-humored incredulity and trudged off. "What did I tell you about the Thinkers making overtures?" Farquar chortled suddenly. "It's come sooner than I expected. Look at this." He held out the radiogram, but the older man didn't take it. Instead he asked, "Who's it from? Tregarron?" "No, from Helmuth. There's a lot of sugar corn about man's future in deep space, but the real reason is clear. They know that they're going to have to produce an actual nuclear rocket pretty soon, and for that they'll need our help." "An invitation?" Farquar nodded. "For this afternoon." He noticed Opperly's anxious though distant frown. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Are you bothered about my going? Are you thinking it might be a trap--that after the Maelzel question they may figure I'm better rubbed out?" The older man shook his head. "I'm not afraid for your life, Willard. That's yours to risk as you choose. No, I'm worried about other things they might do to you." "What do you mean?" Farquar asked. * * * * * Opperly looked at him with a gentle appraisal. "You're a strong and vital man, Willard, with a strong man's prides and desires." His voice trailed off for a bit. Then, "Excuse me, Willard, but wasn't there a girl once? A Miss Arkady?" Farquar's ungainly figure froze. He nodded curtly, face averted. "And didn't she go off with a Thinker?" "If girls find me ugly, that's their business," Farquar said harshly, still not looking at Opperly. "What's that got to do with this invitation?" Opperly didn't answer the question. His eyes got more distant. Finally he said, "In my day we had it a lot easier. A scientist was an academician, cushioned by tradition." Willard snorted. "Science had already entered the era of the police inspectors, with laboratory directors and political appointees stifling enterprise." "Perhaps," Opperly agreed. "Still, the scientist lived the safe, restricted, highly respectable life of a university man. He wasn't exposed to the temptations of the world." Farquar turned on him. "Are you implying that the Thinkers will somehow be able to buy me off?" "Not exactly." "You think I'll be persuaded to change my aims?" Farquar demanded angrily. Opperly shrugged his helplessness. "No, I don't think you'll change your aims." Clouds encroaching from the west blotted the parallelogram of sunlight between the two men. * * * * * As the slideway whisked him gently along the corridor toward his apartment, Jorj was thinking of his spaceship. For a moment the silver-winged vision crowded everything else out of his mind. Just think, a spaceship with sails! He smiled a bit, marveling at the paradox.