"That you refrain from declaring their private lands open territory for equalization. That you resign your post as interim director. That you go before the General Assembly and recommend me as your successor." "_You?_" "Who else is best fitted to serve the interests I represent?" Walton leaned back, his face showing a mirth he scarcely felt. "Very neat, Fred. But full of holes. First thing, what assurance have I that your wealthy friends won't keep a copy of the Lamarre formula and use it as a bludgeon in the future against anyone they don't agree with?" "None," Fred admitted. "Naturally. What's more, suppose I refuse to give in and your employers release the serum to all and sundry. Who gets hurt? Not me; I live in a one-room box myself. But they'll be filling the world with billions and billions of people. Their beloved estates will be overrun by the hungry multitudes, whether they like it or not. And no fence will keep out a million hungry people." "This is a risk they recognize," Fred said. Walton smiled triumphantly. "You mean they're bluffing! They know they don't dare release that serum, and they think they can get me out of the way and you, their puppet, into office by making menacing noises. All right. I'll call their bluff." "You mean you refuse?" "Yes," Walton said. "I have no intention of resigning my interim directorship, and when the Assembly convenes I'm going to ask for the job on a permanent basis. They'll give it to me." "And my evidence against you? The Prior baby?" "Hearsay. Propaganda. I'll laugh it right out of sight." "Try laughing off the serum, Roy. It won't be so easy as all that." "I'll manage," Walton said tightly. He crossed the room and jabbed down on the communicator stud. The screen lit; the wizened face of the tiny servitor appeared. "Sir?" "Fulks, would you show this gentleman out of my chamber, please? He has no further wish to remain with me." "Right away, Mr. Walton." "Before you throw me out," Fred said, "let me tell you one more thing." "Go ahead." "You're acting stupidly--though that's nothing new for you, Roy. I'll give you a week's grace to make up your mind. Then the serum goes into production." "My mind is made up," Walton said stiffly. The door telescoped and Fulks stood outside. He smiled obsequiously at Walton, bowed to Fred, and said to him, "Would you come with me, please?" * * * * * It was like one of those dreams, Walton thought, in which you were a butler bringing dishes to the table, and the tray becomes obstinately stuck to your fingertips and refuses to be separated; or in which the Cavendishes are dining in state and you come to the table nude; or in which you float downward perpetually with never a sign of bottom. There never seemed to be any way out. Force opposed force and he seemed doomed always to be caught in the middle.