* * * * * Still keeping his eyes on the man, Underwood accepted the envelope and ripped it open. In formal language and the customary red tape manner, it instructed Underwood to hear the visitor, one William B. Hennessey, and grant the request that Hennessey would make. Underwood knew him now. His throat felt suddenly dry. "What's this all about?" The man shrugged disparagingly. "I am only a poor Disciple of the Great One, who has been commissioned by his fellows to seek a favor at the hands of the Prophet Underwood." As Underwood looked into the man's eyes, he felt a chill, and a wave of apprehension swept over him with staggering force. "Sit down," he said. "What is it you want?" He wished Dreyer were here to place some semantic evaluation upon this crazy incident. "The Disciples of the Great One would have the privilege of viewing the Master," said Hennessey as he sat down near the desk. "You scientists are instruments selected for a great task. The Great One did not come only to a select few. He came to all mankind. We request the right to visit the temple quietly and view the magnificent work you are doing as you restore our Master to life so that we may receive of his great gifts." Underwood could picture the laboratory filled with bowing, praying, yelling, fanatic worshippers crowding around, destroying equipment and probably trying to walk off with bits of holy protoplasm. He pressed a switch and spun a dial savagely. In a moment the face of Director Boarder was on the tiny screen before him. "This fanatic Hennessey is here. I just wanted to check on the possible liability before having him thrown out on his ear." Boarder's face grew frantic. "Don't do that! You got my note? Do exactly as I said. Those are orders!" "But we can't carry on an experiment with a bunch of fanatics yapping at our heels." * * * * * "I don't care how you do it. You've got to give them what they want. Either that or fold up the experiment. The latest semi-weekly poll shows they effectively control eighty million votes. You know what that means. One word to the Congressional scientific committee and all of us would be out on our ear." "We could shut the thing up and call it off. The protoplasm would just quietly die and then what would these birds have to worship?" "Destruction of government property _can_ carry the death penalty," said Boarder ominously. "Besides, you're too much of the scientist to do that. You want to see the thing through just as much as the rest of us do. If I had the slightest fear that you'd destroy it, I'd yank you out of there before you knew where you were--but I haven't any such fears." "Yes, you're right, but these--" Underwood made a grimace as if he were trying to swallow an oyster with fur on. "I know. We've got to put up with it. The scientist who survives in this day and age is the one who adjusts to his environment." Boarder grinned sourly.