Even on the screen, Fred's neck and shoulders gave an impression of tremendous solidity and force. Walton waited for his brother's image to take shape, and when the time lag was over he said, "Well, Fred? What goes?" His brother's eyes flickered sleepily. "They tell me you were down here a little while ago, Roy. How come I didn't rate a visit?" "I wasn't in your section. It was official business, anyway. I didn't have time." Walton fixed his eyes sharply on the caduceus emblem gleaming on Fred's lapel, and refused to look anywhere else. Fred said slowly, "You had time to tinker with our computer, though." "Official business!" "Really, Roy?" His brother's tone was venomous. "I happened to be using the computer shortly after you this morning. I was curious--unpardonably so, dear brother. I requested a transcript of your conversation with the machine." Sparks seemed to flow from the screen. Walton sat back, feeling numb. He managed to pull his sagging mouth back into a stiff hard line and say, "That's a criminal offense, Fred. Any use I make of a Popeek computer outlet is confidential." "Criminal offence? Maybe so ... but that makes two of us, then. Eh, Roy?" "How much do you know?" "You wouldn't want me to recite it over a public communications system, would you? Your friend FitzMaugham might be listening to every word of this, and I have too much fraternal feeling for that. Ole Doc Walton doesn't want to get his bigwig big brother in trouble--oh, no!" "Thanks for small blessings," Roy said acidly. "You got me this job. You can take it away. Let's call it even for now, shall we?" "Anything you like," Walton said. He was drenched in sweat, though the ingenious executive filter in the sending apparatus of the screen cloaked that fact and presented him as neat and fresh. "I have some work to do now." His voice was barely audible. "I won't keep you any longer, then," Fred said. The screen went dead. Walton killed the contact at his end, got up, walked to the window. He nudged the opaquer control and the frosty white haze over the glass cleared away, revealing the fantastic beehive of the city outside. _Idiot!_ he thought. _Fool!_ He had risked everything to save one baby, one child probably doomed to an early death anyway. And FitzMaugham knew--the old man could see through Walton with ease--and Fred knew, too. His brother, and his father-substitute. FitzMaugham might well choose to conceal Roy's defection this time, but would surely place less trust in him in the future. And as for Fred.... There was no telling what Fred might do. They had never been particularly close as brothers; they had lived with their parents (now almost totally forgotten) until Roy was nine and Fred seven. Their parents had gone down off Maracaibo in a jet crash; Roy and Fred had been sent to the public crèche.