Donnelly moved to block the door and the psychiatrist came abruptly to a halt. "That ain't enough, Doc. You get out after you talk." "For God's sake, Joe." "Shut up, Williams, I'm warning you for the last time." "Let me by. I warn you, Donnelly. Let me by." Williams moved in, regaining a sudden spurt of assurance. "What about that kid up there, Doc? Nobody's letting him by, are they, Doc?" A look of utter weariness swept across the doctor's face. "All right," he said. "You may as well know the truth then. You won't like or understand it, but here it is anyway. You see, there isn't any tug up there, experimental or otherwise. There was only our need for a good excuse--in this present case--to get him to take the drug. You're a space-engineer and a good one, Donnelly. That's why you were chosen for this job. If anybody could help those kids, you could." Donnelly's face tightened warningly and the doctor hurried on. "You would have known about it if there had been any experimental models developed even if they had been secret. As a matter of fact, with your standing, you would probably have been working on them." "Why all this, then, Doc? Why?" "Because," the little doctor hesitated--and then shrugged. "I may as well tell you. It's not going to make any difference now, anyway. It was all done to put him out for several hours until--" "Until what, Doc?" Donnelly's tone was harsh and uncompromising. "You must understand that I'm under orders. I'm doing what is done in all these cases. Though heaven help me, I wish I didn't have to--" "Doc," Donnelly roared. "You have been contradicting yourself all along and I intend to find out why." "There isn't much more to find out.... Wait." The doctor strode quickly over to the radio, and glanced at his wristwatch. His face haggard with strain, he turned to Williams. "Will you contact the MR4, please?" He held up a silencing hand to Donnelly. "There's a reason behind all this. Just wait for a moment, please. Just wait and listen--" * * * * * It was a fumbling-fingered ten minutes later, after Donnelly had signed off, that Hal Burnett finally found the tiny red plastic box in the little emergency medical kit. Trembling he held it in his hand as he floated in free fall. It was a little red key--a key to Earth, to life and to the chance to ram every cold, precise, contemptuous word down his father's over-analytical mouth. He didn't really hate the old man but he knew that he feared him. He feared also that his father might be right about him after all. Who in his own mind, he thought bitterly, should know a son better than that son's own father. A quick surge of elation swept over him as he swam quickly to the Tele-screen and switched it on. It wasn't a bit like saying good-bye to an old friend, he thought, as he gazed at the flaming prominences not so far below him. After a while he switched the instrument off and swam triumphantly back to his bunk.