Two: Fourteen completed shop travelers on which were typed clearly, _Call Amenth upon completion_. That was not unusual; most expediters wanted to be notified when a hot part hit Inspection. The unusual part was that no inspection stamp had been placed opposite the final operation of _Inspect_, _Identify_, _Return to Stock_. Ergo, Amenth had inspected and stocked the parts himself. Three: A progress chart with dates, indicating four detail parts still remaining in fabrication. Final assembly date--tomorrow! The following afternoon, Vogel sat alone in the conference room. The door opened and Amenth came in. "You sent for me, sir?" "Sit down, Amenth. Let's talk a while." Amenth sat down uneasily. "We're considering you for promotion," Vogel said, silencing the little man's protests with a deprecating wave. "But we've got to know if you're ready. Let's talk about your job." Amenth relaxed. They talked shop for a few moments, then Vogel opened a folder, took out his watch. "Very good," he said. "Now let's check your initiative potential." As Amenth stiffened, Vogel reassured him, "Relax. It's a routine association test." For the next ten minutes he timed Amenth's responses with a stop watch. Most of the words were familiar shop words and most of the responses were standard. "_Job._" "Escape," Amenth said instantly. "_Blueprint._" "Create." "_Noise._" "Hate." "_Want._" "Home!" It was all so childish, so obvious, and Amenth's eyes were frightened amber pools when Vogel dismissed him. No matter. Let him suspect. Vogel studied the reaction results with grim amusement. Outside, the shop roared. And Amenth's travelers sped the rounds: Issue material; Shear to size; Form on brake; Weld per print; Miter, drill, inspect, stock. One by one, the strange details were being formed, finished, to lie inert in the stockroom, to await final assembly. Assembly. Of _what_? Tonight was project completion. * * * * * Midnight. Vogel stood in darkness, leaning against the wall. He was tired. He had maintained this vigil for three hours. His right leg was numb and he started to shift position, then froze as he heard footsteps. Three aisles over, a light exploded, blindingly. He held his breath. From outside in fabrication came the muffled clang of drill press and power brake, the sounds of the night shift. He waited. Three aisles over, something moved. Someone fumbled in the stock bins, collecting shaped pieces of metal, grunting with the effort of piling them on the salvage bench, now panting with impatience while assembling the parts. There was a hammering, a fitting together, a flash of light, a humming of power and finally a sob of relief. Vogel's hand slipped into his coat pocket and grasped the gun. He moved silently. Amenth stood at the salvage bench, adjusting studs and connecting terminals. Vogel stared at the final assembly.