"You," said the doctor shortly. "You grew up with a burning curiosity about the nature of things. But it wasn't a scientist's curiosity; it was an aesthete's. You're one of the few people alive who refused a subsidized education and worked your way through advanced studies as a crewman on commercial space-liners. You became one of the youngest professors of philosophy in recent history. You made a romantic marriage and your wife died in childbirth. Since then--almost a hundred missions with E.A.S., refusing numerous offers of advancement. Do I have to tell you what your bugaboo is now?" "No," said Anderson hoarsely. "But I'm ... not afraid of it. I had no idea your ..." He swallowed. "... information was that complete." "I wish it wasn't. I wish I had some things to--wonder about," said Paresi with surprising bitterness. The Captain looked at him shrewdly. "Go on with your case histories." "I've finished." "No you haven't." When Paresi did not answer, the Captain nudged him. "Johnny, Ives, Hoskins, me. Haven't you forgotten someone?" "No I haven't," snarled Paresi, "and if you expect me to tell you why a psychologist buries himself in the stars, I'm not going to do it." "I don't want to be told anything so general," said the Captain. "I just want to know why _you_ came out here." Paresi scowled. The Captain looked away from him and hazarded, "Big frog in a small pond, Nick?" Paresi snorted. Anderson asked, "Women don't like you, do they, Nick?" Almost inaudibly, Paresi said, "Better cut it out, skipper." Anderson said, "Closest thing to being a mother--is that it?" Paresi went white. The Captain closed his eyes, frowned, and at last said, "Or maybe you just want to play God." "I'm going to make it tough for you," said Paresi between his teeth. "There are several ways you can break, just as there are several ways to break a log--explode it, crush it, saw it, burn it.... One of the ways is to fight me until you win. Me, because there's no one else left to fight you. So--I won't fight with you. And you're too rational to attack me unless I do. _That_ is the thing that will make it tough. If you must break, it'll have to be some other way." "Is that what I'm doing?" the Captain asked with sudden mildness. "I didn't know that. I thought I was trying to get your own case history out of you, that's all. What are you staring at?" "Nothing." There was nothing. Where there had been forward viewports, there was nothing. Where there had been controls, the communication station, the forward acceleration panels and storage lockers; the charts and computers and radar gear--there was nothing. Blackness; featureless, silent, impenetrable. They sat on one couch by one wall, to which was fixed one table. Around them was empty floor and a blackness. The chess-player faced into it, and perhaps he was partly within it; it was difficult to see. The Captain and the medical officer stared at one another. There seemed to be nothing to say.