I took what we called a "calculated risk"--that is, I got a firm grip on my courage and told a big fat and possibly detectable lie. I said, "Nobody that I could find. But I still think I heard something. The trouble is, I don't know the vaults very well. I was afraid I'd get lost." Apparently it was on the way in that I had been spotted, for Lawton said thoughtfully, "Let's take a look." We took a couple of battered expediters with us--I didn't regard them as exactly necessary, but I couldn't see how I could tell Lawton that. The elevators were working again, so we came out in a slightly different part of the vaults than I had seen before; it was not entirely acting on my part when I peered around. Lawton accepted my statement that I wasn't quite sure where I had heard the noises, without argument. He accepted it all too easily; he sent the expediters scouring the corridors at random. And, of course, one of them found the pool of spilled fluorescence from the hypodermic needle I had knocked out of Rena's hand. * * * * * We stood there peering at the smear of purplish color, the shattered hypodermic, Rena's gas gun. Lawton mused, "Looks like someone's trying to wake up some of our sleepers. That's our standard antilytic, if I'm not mistaken." He scanned the shelves. "Nobody missing around here. Take a look in the next few sections of the tiers." The expediters saluted and left. "They won't find anyone missing," Lawton predicted. "And _that_ means we have to take a physical inventory of the whole damn clinic. Over eighty thousand suspendees to check." He made a disgusted noise. I said, "Maybe they were scared off before they finished." "Maybe. Maybe not. We'll have to check, that's all." "Are you sure that stuff is to revive the suspendees?" I persisted. "Couldn't it just have been someone wandering down here by mistake during the commotion and--" "And carrying a hypodermic needle by mistake, and armed with a gas gun by mistake. Sure, Wills." The expediters returned and Lawton looked at them sourly. They shook their heads. He shrugged. "Tell you what, Wills," he said. "Let's go back to the office and--" He stopped, peering down the corridor. The last of our expediters was coming toward us--not alone. "Well, what do you know!" said Lawton. "Wills, it looks like he's got your fugitive!" The expediter was dragging a small writhing figure behind him; we could hear whines and pleading. For a heart-stopping second, I thought it was Rena, against all logic. But it wasn't. It was a quavery ancient, a bleary-eyed wreck of a man, long past retirement age, shabbily dressed and obviously the sort who cut his pension policies to the barest minimum--and then whined when his old age was poverty-stricken. Lawton asked me: "This the man?" "I--I couldn't recognize him," I said. * * * * *