Wearily, he snapped on the phone and asked for a connection to Nairobi. The interstellar swap would have to be canceled; Walton was unable to deliver the goods. Fred would have the final smirk yet. Some minutes later, he got through to McLeod. "I'm glad you called," McLeod said immediately. "I've been trying to reach you all day. The Dirnan's getting rather impatient; this low gravity is making him sick, and he wants to get going back to his home world." "Let me talk to him. He'll be able to leave right away." McLeod nodded and vanished from the screen. The alien visage of Thogran Klayrn appeared. "I have been waiting for you," the Dirnan said. "You promised to call earlier today. You did not." "I'm sorry about that," Walton told him. "I was trying to locate the papers to turn over to you." "Ah, yes. Has it been done?" "No," Walton said. "The serum doesn't exist any more. The man who invented it is dead, and so is the only other man who knew the formula." There was a moment of startled silence. Then the Dirnan said, "You assured me delivery of the information." "I know. But it can't be delivered." Walton was silent a long while, brooding. "The deal's off. There was a mix-up and the man who had the data was--was inadvertently executed today." "_Today_, you say?" "Yes. It was an error on my part. A foolish blunder." "That is irrelevant," the alien interrupted peevishly. "Is the man's body still intact?" "Why, yes," Walton said, taken off guard. He wondered what plan the alien had. "It's in our morgue right now. But--" The alien turned away from the screen, and Walton heard him conferring with someone beyond the field of vision. Then the Dirnan returned. "There are techniques for recovering information from newly dead persons," Thogran Klayrn said. "You have none of these on Earth?" "Recovering information?" Walton stammered. "No, we don't." "These techniques exist. Have you such a device as an electroencephalograph on Earth?" "Of course." "Then it is still possible to extract the data from this dead man's brain." The alien uttered a wistful wheeze. "See that the body comes to no harm. I will be at your city shortly." For a moment Walton did not understand. Then he thought, _Of course. It had to happen this way._ He realized the rent in the fabric had been bound up, his mistakes undone, his conscience granted a reprieve. He felt absurdly grateful. That all his striving should have been ruined at the last moment would have been intolerable. Now, all was made whole. "Thanks," he said with sudden fervor. "Thanks!" * * * * * _14 May 2233...._ * * * * * Roy Walton, director of the Bureau of Population Equalization, stood sweltering in the sun at Nairobi Spaceport, watching the smiling people file past him into the towering, golden-hulled ship. A powerful-looking man holding a small child in his arms came up to him. "Hello, Walton," he said in a majestic basso.