Ross pressed, “The museum in Earth city. Get me records, facts, anything about the War of the Joneses. If there’s any meaning to the formula it’ll have to lie in that. It seems there was a battle about its interpretation and we know who won. Let’s find out what the other side said. Get me in there.” He was thinking of the disgraceful war of fanaticism that had marred his own planet’s history. The doctor’s weak Jones jaw was firming up, though his eyes were still haunted. “Stall your killer friends, doctor,” Ross urged. “Tell them you can use us for experiments that’ll cut the cost of the operations. That ought to bring them around. And get me the facts!” “To be free,” the doctor said wistfully. He said after a pause, “I’ll try. But——” And rapped a code series on the steel door. ..... 11 THE doctor said with weak belligerence, “Who do you think I am? Jones? I _had_ to leave your friends behind. I had enough trouble getting those hoods to let me take _you_ along. After all, I’m not a miracle-worker.” Ross said sullenly, “Okay, okay.” He glowered out of the car window and spat out a tendril of red hair that had come loose from the fringe surrounding his mouth. The trouble with a false beard was that it itched, worse than the real article, worse than any torment Ross had ever known. But at least Ross, externally and at extreme range, was enough of a Jones to pass a casual glance. And what would Helena and Bernie be thinking now? He hadn’t had a chance to whisper to them; they’d been just waking when the doctor dragged him out. Ross put that problem out of his mind; there were problems enough right on hand. He cautiously felt his red wig to see if it was on straight. The doctor didn’t seem to look away from his driving, but he said: “Leave it alone. That’s the first thing the Peepeece look for, somebody who obviously isn’t sure if his hair is still on or not. It won’t come off.” “Umph,” said Ross. The road was getting worse, it seemed; they had passed no houses for several miles now. They rounded a rutted turn, and ahead was a sign. STOP! RESTRICTED AREA AHEAD WARNING: THIS ROAD IS MINED NO TRAFFIC ALLOWED! DETOUR “Trespassers beyond this point will be shot without further notice.” Decree #404-5 People’s Commissariat of Culture and Solidarity. The doctor spat contemptuously out the window and roared past. Ross said, “Hey!” “Oh, relax,” said the doctor. “That’s just the Cultureniks. Nobody pays any attention to _them_.”