In the morning he woke to find himself climbing the wide, carpeted steps to her room. She was not asleep; it was her mind that was guiding him. He opened the door. She lay with a feathery coverlet pulled up to her chin, eyes open, head propped on three pillows; as she looked at him he was free. "Something the matter, love? You fell asleep sitting up." "Sorry." She would not be put off. She made him tell her his resentments. She was very understanding and very sure as she said, "You're not a dog, love. I won't have you thinking that way. You're my friend. Don't you think I need a friend?" She leaned forward. Her nightgown was very sheer; but Chandler had tasted that trap before and he averted his eyes. "You think it's all fun for us. I understand. Tell me, if you thought I was doing important work--oh, _crucial_ work, love--would you feel a little easier? Because I am. We've got the whole work of the island to do, and I do my share. We've got our plans to make and our future to provide for. There are so few of us. A single H-bomb could kill us all. Do you think it isn't work, keeping that bomb from ever coming here? There's all Honolulu to monitor, for they know about us there. We can't like some disgusting nitwits like your Society of Slaves destroy _us_. There's the problems of the world to see to. Why," she said with pride, "we've solved the whole Indian-Pakistani population problem in the last two months. They'll not have to worry about famine again for a dozen generations! We're working on China now; next Japan; next--oh, all the world. We'll have three-quarters of the lumps gone soon, and the rest will have space to breathe in. It's work!" She saw his expression and said earnestly, "No, don't think that! You call it murder. It is, of course. But it's the surgeon's knife. We're quicker and less painful than starvation, love ... and if some of us enjoy the work of weeding out the unfit, does that change anything? It does not! I admit some of us are, well, _mean_. But not all. And we're improving. The new people we take in are better than the old." She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. Then she shook her head. "Never mind," she said--apparently to herself. "Forget it, love. Go like an angel and fetch us both some coffee." * * * * * Like an angel he went ... not, he thought bitterly, like a man. She was keeping something from him, and he was too stubborn to let her tease him out of his mood. "Everything's a secret," he complained, and she patted his cheek. "It has to be that way." She was quite serious. "This is the biggest thing in the world. I'm fond of you, love, but I can't let that interfere with my duty." "_Shto, Rosie?_" said Chandler's mouth thickly. "Oh, there you are, Andrei," she said, and spoke quickly in Russian. Chandler's brows knotted in a scowl and he barked: "_Nyeh mozhet bit!_" "Andrei...." she said gently. "_Ya vas sprashnivayoo...._" "_Nyet!_" "_No Andrei...._"