Bennington glanced at the three dead men, the broken window, and added them to his mental list of things to be done. But he put them among the minor problems; he had enough major ones already. The news services were besieging The Cage. A couple of ambitious photographers had been caught attempting to cross the moat. The civilian dead in the mess hall had to be identified and the next of kin notified. His entire staff was disorganized: imprisoned as hostages, knocked out along with the rioters by sleep-gas, brusquely revived by Mosby's aid-men--Well, he might be able to get some work out of them tomorrow. The rioters still slept, but what to do about those supposedly conditioned men when the gas wore off ... a new hypno-tech, from somewhere, by tomorrow morning. _Add six governors who think I have nothing to do but tell them every detail_, he thought grimly. "You had better eat, sir." Ferguson, with a gigantic sandwich and a mug of coffee. Bennington abruptly realized that he had not eaten since noon. Then, in the middle of his second bite, he was aware of still another problem. He swallowed hastily. "Mossback, did you bring the entire battalion? Are you completely set up for independent battalion operation?" "Yes, of course. Why?" "I've got a compound full of prisoners and a staff to feed." Mosby turned to his aide, but the captain has already started for the door. Mosby swung back to Bennington, rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Better and better. Just as if we had captured and had to use an enemy installation. Prisoners to guard, dead men and a couple of wounded to take care of.... Jim, I can't thank you enough." "You're welcome, but how long can I keep you?" Mosby sobered. Like all good general officers, he was acutely sensitive to the political significance of his actions. "We can get away with what we did tonight, Jim," he answered slowly. "But well, you know how the states have become the past couple of years, since they started forming regional groups. "Wait a minute! You got prisoners from six states, don't you?" "Yes." "You can have the whole command. And if the AG's office can't dig up at least six good precedents for my decision, we can always let slip the story of the hula girl and the hot cigarette butt. I may do that, anyhow. I always did think he went too far to get good pictures." "I may need more," Bennington said soberly. "What you need, you get, Jim, but why?" "Two of them got away." "Yes?" Mosby was interested, but not especially so. "One was a very good escape artist--guy call Dalton. _Harry Dalton._" "Um, yes," Mosby interrupted, "I recall that name. If I were his commanding officer, I would call him 'Always AWOL'." "The other was a fairly young man named Clarens." * * * * * A silence grew. At last Mosby spoke, "I've heard of him, too. How did they get through the road blocks?"