And slowly and surely she was closing in on him, compensating. She had struck prematurely, realized her mistake, and was narrowing the range, holding the final assault until assured of victory. He stood up weakly and hurried to the door, brushing through a group of startled workers. Outside, a cab was cruising, and Parr ran after it. It did not stop. He turned and ran frantically in the opposite direction, rounded the corner, still running, his heels thudding on the hot pavement. He ran for blocks, the blood pounding in his head, sweat trickling into his eyes. Pedestrians turned to stare, looking back along his line of flight. When Parr stopped, finally, he was trembling. He stared at his own hands curiously, and then he looked around him. He swallowed hard. The world swam, steadied. His chest rose and fell desperately.... At the airport, he phoned the warehouse. "Hickle? Get me Hickle.... Hello, Hickle, this is Parr. Listen, Hickle, are you listening? Hickle, I've got to leave town for two days. You've got to run things. You understand? Listen. I've left money in the drawer of my desk ... for the pay roll.... You know how to run things, don't you, Hickle?... Now, listen, Hickle, there's some trucking ... wait a minute.... Look.... You stay down there. Right there. I'll phone you back, long distance, later. Don't go away, Hickle. Wait right there. I'll tell you what you've got to do." The last call for his plane came over the loudspeaker. "Listen, Hickle, I've got to run. I'll phone you later, so wait. Wait right there, Hickle!" * * * * * Over Bakersfield, gratefully--infinitely gratefully--he felt the last wisp of pressure vanish. He was free. There was no consequence powerful enough to keep him from dropping his mind shield entirely. But he let it come down slowly, barrier by barrier, enjoying the release, prolonging the ultimate freedom beyond. At last the roar of the motors, muffled, sang in his head like an open song, and there was nothing between his thoughts and the world. His mind stretched and trembled and pained from the stress, and quivered and fluttered and pulsed and throbbed and vibrated and rejoiced. He looked out over the wing, through the whirring propellers, at the hazy horizon, at the cloudless sky, bright and blue and infinite. It was the best day he had ever known. It was freedom, and he had never known it before. His mind was infinitely open as the sky above the clouds, and he stretched it out and out until he forced the limit, beyond which no mind may go, yet wanting to plunge on. In the east, there was the dusk of night coming down, a cloak pulled up from the other side of the world by the grapple hooks of dying sunshine. In San Francisco he phoned Hickle in Los Angeles, a man and a place so far removed that he wanted to shout to make himself heard over the telephone.