Corporal Westerburg hesitated. He stared down at the floor, then out the window at the spaceport, then at a fly on the desk. At last he stood up, getting slowly to his feet. "I can't even tell you that, sir," he said. "You can't? Why not?" "Because--because I promised not to." * * * * * The room was silent. Doctor Harris rose, too, and they both stood facing each other. Harris frowned, rubbing his jaw. "Corporal, just _who_ did you promise?" "I can't even tell you that, sir. I'm sorry." The Doctor considered this. At last he went to the door and opened it. "All right, Corporal. You may go now. And thanks for your time." "I'm sorry I'm not more helpful." The Corporal went slowly out and Harris closed the door after him. Then he went across his office to the vidphone. He rang Commander Cox's letter. A moment later the beefy good-natured face of the Base Commander appeared. "Cox, this is Harris. I talked to him, all right. All I could get is the statement that he's a plant. What else is there? What kind of behavior pattern?" "Well," Cox said, "the first thing they noticed was that he wouldn't do any work. The Garrison Chief reported that this Westerburg would wander off outside the Garrison and just sit, all day long. Just sit." "In the sun?" "Yes. Just sit in the sun. Then at nightfall he would come back in. When they asked why he wasn't working in the jet repair building he told them he had to be out in the sun. Then he said--" Cox hesitated. "Yes? Said what?" "He said that work was unnatural. That it was a waste of time. That the only worthwhile thing was to sit and contemplate--outside." "What then?" "Then they asked him how he got that idea, and then he revealed to them that he had become a plant." "I'm going to have to talk to him again, I can see," Harris said. "And he's applied for a permanent discharge from the Patrol? What reason did he give?" "The same, that he's a plant now, and has no more interest in being a Patrolman. All he wants to do is sit in the sun. It's the damnedest thing I ever heard." "All right. I think I'll visit him in his quarters." Harris looked at his watch. "I'll go over after dinner." "Good luck," Cox said gloomily. "But who ever heard of a man turning into a plant? We told him it wasn't possible, but he just smiled at us." "I'll let you know how I make out," Harris said. * * * * * Harris walked slowly down the hall. It was after six; the evening meal was over. A dim concept was coming into his mind, but it was much too soon to be sure. He increased his pace, turning right at the end of the hall. Two nurses passed, hurrying by. Westerburg was quartered with a buddy, a man who had been injured in a jet blast and who was now almost recovered. Harris came to the dorm wing and stopped, checking the numbers on the doors. "Can I help you, sir?" the robot attendant said, gliding up. "I'm looking for Corporal Westerburg's room."