"Why not?" "It ain't my _kind_ of thing," he said. "Look, I never in my life run odds on anything that made any difference. But this makes a difference. If I guess wrong--" "Then we're all dead ducks. But why should you guess wrong? Your hunches have been working for sixty years now." Braun wiped his face. "No. You don't get it. I wish you'd listen to me. Look, my wife and my kids are in the city. It ain't only my life, it's theirs, too. That's what I care about. That's why it's no good. On things that matter to me, _my hunches don't work_." I was stunned, and so, I could see, were Joan and Cheyney. I suppose I should have guessed it, but it had never occurred to me. "Ten minutes," Cheyney said. I looked up at Braun. He was frightened, and again I was surprised without having any right to be. I tried to keep at least my voice calm. "Please try it anyhow, Mr. Braun--as a favor. It's already too late to do it any other way. And if you guess wrong, the outcome won't be any worse than if you don't try at all." "My kids," he whispered. I don't think he knew that he was speaking aloud. I waited. Then his eyes seemed to come back to the present. "All right," he said. "I told you the truth, Andy. Remember that. So--is it a bomb or ain't it? That's what's up for grabs, right?" I nodded. He closed his eyes. An unexpected stab of pure fright went down my back. Without the eyes, Braun's face was a death mask. The water sounds and the irregular ticking of a Geiger counter seemed to spring out from the audio speaker, four times as loud as before. I could even hear the pen of the seismograph scribbling away, until I looked at the instrument and saw that Clark had stopped it, probably long ago. Droplets of sweat began to form along Braun's forehead and his upper lip. The handkerchief remained crushed in his hand. Anderton said, "Of all the fool--" "Hush!" Joan said quietly. * * * * * Slowly, Braun opened his eyes. "All right," he said. "You guys wanted it this way. _I say it's a bomb._" He stared at us for a moment more--and then, all at once, the Timkin bearing burst. Words poured out of it. "Now you guys do something, do your job like I did mine--get my wife and kids out of there--empty the city--do something, _do something_!" Anderton was already grabbing for the phone. "You're right, Mr. Braun. If it isn't already too late--" Cheyney shot out a hand and caught Anderton's telephone arm by the wrist. "Wait a minute," he said. "What d'you mean, 'wait a minute'? Haven't you already shot enough time?" Cheyney did not let go; instead, he looked inquiringly at Joan and said, "One minute, Joan. You might as well go ahead." She nodded and spoke into the mike. "Monig, unscrew the cap." "Unscrew the cap?" the audio squawked. "But Dr. Hadamard, if that sets it off--" "It won't go off. That's the one thing you can be sure it won't do." "What is this?" Anderton demanded. "And what's this deadline stuff, anyhow?"