Brent paced the floor, occupied with his own thoughts. It was more than mere frustration. It went deeper. There was his resentment of the dressing-down he'd taken from Authority; the subtle coolness that had begun to permeate his relations with those upstairs. He jerked his mind away from such thoughts. Nerves. That was it. He was tense. He was imagining things. They were certainly too well aware of the gravity of this situation to let petty politics interfere. Or were they? "Okay, Doc," Brent said crisply. "Thanks for letting me pick your brain." "Good luck, son." Entman went back to his work and Taber left. As he walked down the corridor, he analyzed the cheerful tone of Entman's voice and told himself that even Entman didn't really believe it. Entman had the evidence before his eyes but he still couldn't get the concept of alien creatures from space really taking us over. It was too unbelievable. _Am I the only one who really believes it?_ He asked himself this question as he hailed a cab in the street and watched a fat man in a bowler hat slip in and take it away from him. "You're slipping, Taber," he muttered. "You're definitely slipping." * * * * * The bell rang. Rhoda Kane opened the door. The man standing there was not extraordinary in any way. He appeared just short of middle age. He wore a blue suit and a blue necktie. The word for him was _quiet_. He was a man who did not stand out. "My name is John Dennis," he said. "I would like to speak to you." The abrupt demand annoyed Rhoda. She frowned and was about to retort just as peremptorily, but an odd bemusement tempered her mood. The man was uncivil enough to be interesting. She said, "I'm busy now," but instead of closing the door, she stepped back into the room. The man came in and it was he who closed the door. "I don't wish to alarm you, Miss Kane." "I'm not in the least alarmed." As she spoke, Rhoda wondered if this was true. But the wondering itself was on such an impersonal basis that it didn't seem to make much difference. Also, she was noticing that John Dennis was not quite as he'd first appeared. He was much younger than middle-aged, really--somewhere in his thirties. He was quiet, yes, but handsome, too. There was a rugged individuality about him that was easily missed at first glance. A definite attractiveness. "I want to ask you about a friend of yours. Frank Corson." This seemed like a logical request. It definitely seemed that way but, at the same time, Rhoda was confused as to why it should appear to be. A man came and knocked on the door and entered and asked a question like that. It _shouldn't_ have been all right, but it was. He probably had the right, she told herself, else he would not have asked. "What do you wish to know?" "Tell me about him." "He is a doctor. Frank is an intern at Park Hill Hospital. After he finishes there he will go into practice. I guess that's about all there is to it."