* * * * * Horbit was sitting in his detention quarters idly flicking through a book tape on the Civil War when I found him. The tic in his cheek marked time with every new page. "President Lincoln," I said reverently. Horbit looked up, his eyes set in a clever new way. "_You_ call me that. Does it mean I am recovering? You don't mean now that I'm getting back my right senses?" "Mr. President, the situation you find yourself in now is something stranger and more evil than any madness. I am not a phantom of your mind--I am a _real_ man. This wild, distorted place is a _real_ place." "Do you think you can pull the wool over my eyes, you scamp? Mine eyes have seen the glory." "Yes, sir." I sat down beside him and looked earnestly into his twitching face. "But I know you have always believed in the occult." He nodded slowly. "I _have_ often suspected this was hell." "Not quite, sir. The occult has its own rigid laws. It is perfectly scientific. This world is in another dimension--one that is not length, breadth or thickness--but a real one nevertheless." "An interesting theory. Go ahead." "This world is more scientifically advanced than the one you come from--and this advanced science has fallen into the hands of a well-meaning despot." Horbit nodded again. "The Jefferson Davis type." He didn't understand Lincoln's beliefs very well, but I pretended to go along with him. "Yes, sir. He--our leader--doubts your abilities as President. He is not above meddling in the affairs of an alien world if he believes he is doing good. He has convicted you to this world in that belief." He chuckled. "Many of my countrymen share his convictions." "Maybe," I said. "But many here do not. I don't. I know you must return to guide the Reconstruction. But first you must convince our leader of your worth." "How am I going to accomplish that?" Horbit asked worriedly. "You are going to have a companion from now on, an agent of the leader, who will pretend to be something he isn't. You must pretend to believe in what he claims to be, and convince him of your high intelligence, moral responsibilities, and qualities of leadership." "Yes," Horbit said thoughtfully, "yes. I must try to curb my tendency for telling off-color jokes. My wife is always nagging me about that." * * * * * Paulson was only a few doors away from Horbit. I found him with his long, thin legs stretched out in front of him, staring dismally into the gloom of the room. No wonder he found reality so boring and depressing with so downbeat a mood cycle. I wondered why they hadn't been able to do something about adjusting his metabolism. "Paulson," I said gently, "I want to speak with you." He bolted upright in his chair. "You're going to put me back to sleep." "I came to talk to you about that," I admitted.