The teller glanced curiously at the check, stamped it, and without hesitation handed me a fifty credit note. I was elated. The bank had not yet been notified. I returned to the counter and wrote out a check in my own name to one hundred twenty-five thousand credits. I presented it to another teller. "Your identification, please?" I flashed my wrist band. The teller studied the check minutely. "This is a considerable sum. More than I have at my window. Could you wait for just a moment?" He picked up his phone. A bank guard tapped me on the shoulder. "Could you come with me, please." My impulse was to run. A paralyzer pistol was sheathed in his wrist holster. There was no use. I followed him to the original teller's window. "I'm sorry, sir," said the man, "but an estop has been put on this account. You will have to return the fifty credits." "Certainly," I said, hastily whipping out the fifty. I wanted to dash for the door. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the other teller hang up his phone and look about urgently. He had not yet seen me. "Here is the invalidated check," said the teller. "I suggest you hold onto it." "Thank you," I said, restraining my hand from grabbing. "Guard," I said, "there's a teller over there motioning for you." I pointed in the opposite direction from the second teller. "I think it's number 16 there." He went his way. I went my way, as fast as one can in a bank building without starting a chase. I hurried through the doors, waving frantically for a coptercab. One descended. "Where to?" Good question. "Fly me over the islands. I have to kill some time." * * * * * We ascended. I could just about read the cabbie's mind. "These damn Competitors! So busy and so loaded they have to spend money to kill time." We wafted towards the lakefront. My own thoughts were swirling chaotically. I felt as though someone had turned off the degravity device just as I was stepping into the elevator shaft. The rug--no, the entire floor itself--had been yanked out from under me. I knew now that I was being pursued systematically. It was not yet noon, not yet two hours since the event. Already the subtle, confident, overpowering resources of the state had been brought to bear, narrowing the avenues of escape, cutting off the criminal's life-line. Yet what had made me an outlaw? Love of offspring? "Do you want me to just keep circling?" said the cabbie. I made a quick decision. "Board of Trade Building. I'll show you which entrance when we get there." My office was located there. Undoubtedly it would be under close watch. Probably Charlie Spacker's was also. But I had to communicate with Charlie. Had to get some money. Had to arrange to get out of the country.