The man laughed. "Yes, we are both surprised. Was it Robert Burns? Yes, of course. 'To see ourselves as others see us....'" He chuckled, and reached for a cigarette. "Filthy habit, this. Don't know how I picked it up. Possibly a deep-seated trait of yours, Mr. Carver. Odd how these things can be transferred." The door opened again. "Dr. Minton!" Ron leaped to his feet. The doctor's face went white behind the gray beard and moustache. "Then you've found him," he said softly, to neither of them in particular. "No," Ron Carver's body answered. "I didn't find him, doctor. Rather, he found us. Isn't that right, Mr. Carver?" "Yes!" Ron said. "And now I want to know the truth!" "I, too, need answers," the Ron-body said stiffly. "I need answers at once, Dr. Minton. I would think this requires an explanation." "I couldn't do it," the doctor whispered. "I couldn't do what you wanted, Scholar." "Do what?" Ron said. "All right, then," the Ron-body said coldly. "You failed once. But you're far too intelligent to make the same mistake twice. So you have your assignment, Dr. Minton. I will get you the help you need. But kill this--this remnant--" He turned away in disgust, and picked up the telephone. He spoke under his breath for a few moments, and then hung up. "Dr. Luther will be here in just a moment. He'll arrange things with the laboratory. It will all be very painless and quick." Ron said: "What are you talking about?" He looked wildly towards the old man, who had aged even further since entering the room. "Dr. Minton--" The door opened. A brisk young man, carrying a small valise, appeared. "All set downstairs," he said. "Good," the Ron-body answered. "Then get it over with." Ron struggled for a moment in the young man's grip, but he found it iron. "Please, Ron." Doctor Minton's eyes were moist. "Don't make any trouble. Please...." * * * * * The laboratory was in the basement of the building, an antiseptic room with the acrid odor of chemicals. Dr. Luther prepared something in a hypodermic syringe, while Dr. Minton strapped his former patient onto a padded examining table. "Doctor ..." Ron whispered. "Hush, Ron. It's all right...." "But what is all this? Who am I?" The doctor frowned. "You're Ronald Carver. You're the same Ronald Carver you always were. But you have made an exchange of bodies. That is all." "But why? How?" "I don't really know. God help us. It was _his_ project from start to finish--that thing upstairs." "Who is he?" "A phenomenon. A mutation. A freak. A genius. A god. I can't explain him. He was born twelve years ago, to normal parents in the middle west. He was a recognized prodigy at the age of six months, a mathematical wizard at one, a scientific genius at three.... You've heard of this kind of thing, Ron. Once a generation, something like this. And once a millenium--a horror like this one." "I don't understand! What is Project Scholar?"