"Perception is never objective, my dear Darius. An individual perceives. Some men are tone-deaf, others color-blind. We all taste the same foods, liking some and disliking others. I say the newspaper belongs on the top like this. I say our creation of news is no different from the hundred varied opinions of a hundred members of the rabble. Unless it's better. We're a cohesive force, Darius. We simplify. We unite." "You hamper and destroy." "We don't rule by force. Have they ever tried to overthrow us? Have they? You see, they don't dislike us. They have faith in us. They can grow roots and feel secure. They don't have a myriad of possibilities confronting them. They have only two on any given subject, except in purely local situations which we don't consider important. Either the _Star-Times_ is right, or the _World_ is." "Why are you telling me all this?" "It's very important to me. I believed in you, Darius. I still think you've made a mistake. While it's too late now--you see, we can't really control _all_ events, can we?--I would like to hear you admit your mistake. I can never trust anyone again." "If I admit it?" "I'll thank you...." "And hand me over to Weaver Wainwright?" "And hand you over to Weaver Wainwright." * * * * * There was a disturbance outside, the sound of running feet in the City Room, of many voices. Overman cocked his head to one side, listening to the tiny receiver in his ear then picking up his microphone hose and saying, "In a moment. That's right, I said let them in. But give me five minutes." He dropped the hose. "They're here for you, Darius." "I gathered." "Would you make a man who once was your friend happy before you go? Just tell me you were wrong. Tell me if you had your way over again you would remain loyal to me even if you were confronted with the same faulty philosophical notions." "At the point of a parabeam? What good would it do?" "Forget the parabeam. I'm two people now. I'm guarding you and I'll kill you if you come any closer to me, but I'm also pleading with you. I'm asking you to give me my salvation." "I wonder which one is stronger," McLeod said, standing again and leaning across the desk. "Why does it mean so much to you, chief? Let me tell you. Is it because you have doubts yourself and want me to resolve them for you?" "Keep back, I'm warning you. That isn't it at all. You've made me lose my faith in people." "I thought you didn't have any." "In a few people. Please, Darius. Don't come any closer. A man has to trust someone." "You can't do anything about your doubts. You're hoping I can." "I'm going to kill you if you come any closer." Overman was still standing like a statue, the parabeam an extension of his right hand. It was as if he would never move again unless McLeod freed him with a word. It was as if the heart too had stopped its beating and only the lips were alive, the pleading lips, begging for a reprieve.