"It's quite evident that someone read my article in the Research Engineers' journal more carefully than you did! As a matter of fact, Eddie actually warned me that anyone hostile to the United States could not possibly allow my work to continue!" Amos Busch and General Sanders exchanged wary glances. "All right," said General Sanders, "We'll let that go for the moment--but what made you ask about the X-15 in the first place?" "Eddie suggested that if the ICBM missiles could theoretically be stolen over the mid-Atlantic, it would be vastly less difficult to steal an X-15 over the Mojave Desert!" As the two Air Force men digested this statement, along with the indisputable fact that an X-15 _had_ disappeared, John O'Hara Smith blandly informed them: "Incidentally, gentlemen, you'll have to get Eddie's duplicate tapes for me." Busch reddened, and could not resist asking: "Including those short-wave broadcasts from Moscow Radio?" "Naturally!" Dr. Smith snapped. "I'm sure Eddie extracts a great deal of useful information from them!" This second interrogation, like the previous one in the hospital, ended on a triumphant note for the exasperating Dr. Smith. When they were alone, General Sanders turned to Busch and sighed: "We've got a double security problem, Amos! If word of this deal with Smith gets back to Washington, I'll be laughed right out of the service!" But the General didn't begin to grasp the full implications of his predicament until the afternoon of Oct. 7, when Dr. Smith phoned to say Eddie was completed. "Good," grunted the General. "Get going, then!" "We'll need more information first." "What kind of information?" General Sanders demanded suspiciously. His suspicions were reinforced by Smith's terse dictum: "Eddie must have all the facts on the X-15." "Impossible!" Dr. Smith's sniff indicated he nurtured utter disbelief in the concept of the impossible. "Eddie operates on facts," he reminded the General. General Sanders didn't sleep much that night. Neither did Amos Busch. They talked and argued until three in the morning, when the General poured one last drink and raised his glass. "O.K.," he said grimly. "I've gone this far and I've got to go the rest of the way!" They drank, and he continued: "At least, now I won't have to worry about being laughed out of the service--I'll get court-martialed out!" He jabbed viciously at an ice-cube with his forefinger. "But there's one thing I'll do first," he promised. "What's that, Sir?" "Strangle Smith with my bare hands!" * * * * * General Sanders sat on a metal folding chair in front of Eddie, the educatable computer, and stared belligerently at the roughly-finished aluminum facade.