"I don't know. But I'm not treating it as a joke; not until I've seen the evidence, anyway. I made an appointment to go out to Jersey and visit their lab on Friday." "And you'll take the job, if they've really hit on something?" Harker nodded. "Sure I'll take it. It's risky, of course, and there's sure to be a lot of public clamor in both directions--" "And haven't we had enough of that? Weren't you satisfied when you tried to reform the state government, and wound up being read out of the party? Jim, do you have to be Quixote all the time?" Her words had barbs. Harker thought bleakly that being able always to see both sides of a question, as he could, was a devil-granted gift. Wearily he said, "All right. I tried to do something I thought was right, and I got my head chopped off as a result. Well, here's my second chance--maybe. For all I know they're a bunch of lunatics over there. I owe it to myself and to the world to find out--and to help them, if I can." He pointed at the tri-dim of Eva. "Suppose that happened _now_--Eva, I mean. Wouldn't you want to save her? Or," he said, making his words deliberately harsh, "suppose Paul dies. Wouldn't you want to be able to call him back from--from wherever he had gone?" For a moment there was silence. "Well? Wouldn't you?" Lois shrugged, turning her hands palm outward. "Jim, I don't know. I just honestly don't know." CHAPTER III At three minutes past two on Friday afternoon Harker's secretary buzzed him to let him know Dr. Lurie had arrived. Harker felt momentary apprehension. Cautious, even a little conservative by nature, he felt uneasy about paying a visit to a laboratory of--for all he knew--mad scientists. He turned on an amiable grin when Lurie arrived. The scientist looked less gawky than before, more sure of himself; he wore what seemed to be the same rumpled clothing. "The car's downstairs," Lurie said. Harker left word at the front desk that he was leaving for the day, telling the girl to refer all calls to one of the other partners in the firm. He followed Lurie into the gravshaft. The car idled in the temporary-parking area outside--a long, low, thrumming '33 turbo-job, sleekly black and coming with a $9,000 price-tag at the least. There were three men inside. Lurie touched a knob; the back door peeled back, and he and Harker got in. Harker looked around. They were looking at him, too. Minutely. The man at the wheel was a fleshy, hearty-looking fellow in his late fifties, who swiveled in a full circle to peer unabashedly at Harker. Next to him was a thin, pale, intense young man with affectedly thick glasses (no reason why he couldn't wear contacts instead, Harker thought), and sitting at the far side in back was the third, a coolly self-possessed individual in unobtrusive black clothes. The fleshy man at the wheel said, "How do you do, Governor Harker. I'm Cal Mitchison--no scientist I, heh-heh! I'm public-liaison man for Beller Labs."