When he finally was allowed into Zelda's room, he spent all his time watching her silently, taking in every intently mumbled word and movement. Her movements, in spite of their gratingly basic monotony, were particularly something to watch, for Zelda had blue-black hair down to her shapely shoulders, wide-apart blue eyes, sulky mouth, and an astonishing body. She used all her physical equipment with unconscious provocativeness, except her eyes, which were blankly distant. Clocker stood it as long as he could and then burst out, "Damn it, Zelda, how long can they take to learn a time-step?" She didn't answer. She didn't see him, hear him, or feel him. Even when he kissed her on the back of the neck, her special place, she did not twist her shoulder up with the sudden thrill. He took out the portable phonograph he'd had permission to bring in, and hopefully played three of her old numbers--a ballet tap, a soft shoe, and, most potent of all, her favorite slinky strip tune. Ordinarily, the beat would have thrown her off, but not any more. "Dead to this world," muttered Clocker dejectedly. He shook Zelda. Even when she was off-balance, her feet tapped out the elementary routine. "Look, kid," he said, his voice tense and angry, "I don't know who these squares are that you're working for, but tell them if they got you, they got to take me, too." Whatever he expected--ghostly figures to materialize or a chill wind from nowhere--nothing happened. She went on tapping. He sat down on her bed. _They_ picked people the way he picked horses, except he picked to win and they picked to show. To show? Of course. Zelda was showing them how to dance and also, probably, teaching them about the entertainment business. The others had obviously been selected for what they knew, which they went about doing as singlemindedly as she did. * * * * * He had a scheme that he hadn't told Doc because he knew it was crazy. At any rate, he hoped it was. The weeks without her had been a hell of loneliness--for him, not for her; she wasn't even aware of the awful loss. He'd settle for that, but even better would be freeing her somehow. The only way he could do it would be to find out who controlled her and what they were after. Even with that information, he couldn't be sure of succeeding, and there was a good chance that he might also be caught, but that didn't matter. The idea was to interest _them_ in what he knew so _they_ would want to have him explain all he knew about racing. After that--well, he'd make his plans when he knew the setup.