"No," she said. "This way, you'd have to do the killing yourself. When the ships come, you can let them do it for you, just sit and wait for someone to kill you. Like a cataleptic. But you won't, Johnny." "I will," he said. She shook her head, the smile remaining. Her voice was quiet and calm, but there was a feeling of strain in it: there was strain everywhere, now. Everyone looked at the sky, and saw nothing: everyone listened for the sound of engines, and there were no engines to hear. "Catalepsy is a kind of death, Johnny. And you'll have to inflict that much on yourself. You won't do it." "You think I--" He stopped and swallowed. "You think I like living this way, don't you?" "I think you like living," Norma said. "I think we all do, no matter how rough it gets. No matter how it grates on the nerves, or the flesh, of the supersensitive conscience. And I know how you feel, Johnny, I do--I--" She stopped very suddenly. He heard his voice say: "I love you." There was a silence. "Johnny," she said, and her hands reached out for him blindly. He saw, incredibly, tears like jewels at the corners of her eyes. "Johnny--" It was at that moment that the alarm-bell rang. It was heard only faintly in Building One, but that didn't matter. Dodd knew the direction, and the sound. He turned to go, for a second no more than a machine. Norma's voice said: "Escape?" He came back to her. "I--the alarm tripped off. This time they must have tried it through the front door, or a window. The last one must have tunnelled through--" He had to leave her. Instead he stood silently for a second. She said nothing. "There are spots the steel's never covered," he said. "You can tunnel through if you're lucky." A pause. "I--" "It's all right, Johnny," she said. "Norma--" "It's all right I understand. It's all right." Her voice. He hung on to it as he turned and walked away, found the elevator, started away from the room, the Building where she was, started off to do his duty. His duty as a slaver. * * * * * The night was long, so long it could have been the night before the end of the world, the universe drawing one last deep breath before blowing out the candles and returning, at last, to peace and darkness and silence. Dodd spent it posted as one of the guards around the two cells where the Alberts were penned. He had plenty of time to think. And, in spite of Norma, in spite of everything, he was still sure of one thing. Because he was a slaver, because he acted, still, as a slaver and a master, hated by the Confederation, hated by the Alberts, hated by that small part of himself which had somehow stayed clean of the foulness of his work and his life, because of all that.... It was going to be very easy to die. * * * * * PUBLIC OPINION FOUR