"A thing like this creeps over you," Jem said in a wondering voice. "You begin by telling yourself you're only rectifying a mistake people would never make if they had time to think. You set a figure--one out of five. One person out of five, you say to yourself, would switch his own vote, given the chance. Then you wonder if it might not be one out of four--and then three.... Joe, I swear when I first suggested we go down there tonight, I hadn't a thought of doing--what we did. Even when I put the insulation and wire in my pocket, I never thought I'd--" "Didn't you?" Kimmensen said. He felt disinterested. They'd had to do it, and they'd done it. Now the thing was to forget about it. "Good night, Bendix." He left him and walked slowly through the corridors left over from another time. He went down the front steps and out into the plaza. He found Messerschmidt waiting for him. He was standing in the shadow of the plane's cabin, and the plaza lights barely showed his face. Kimmensen stopped still. Messerschmidt's features were a pale ghost of himself in the darkness. "Didn't you think I'd make spot-checks?" he asked with pity in his voice. "I had people voting at timed intervals, with witnesses, while I checked the running total." "I don't know what you're talking about." Messerschmidt nodded slowly. "Mr. Kimmensen, if I'd thought for a minute you'd do something like that, I'd have had some of my men in that building with you." His hands moved in the only unsure gesture Kimmensen had ever seen him make. "I had a good idea of how the vote would go. When it started right, and suddenly began petering out, I had to start checking. Mr. Kimmensen, did you really think you could get away with it?" "Get away with what? Are you going to claim fraud--repudiate the election? Is that it?" "Wait--wait, now--Mr. Kimmensen, didn't you rig the vote?" "Are you insane?" Messerschmidt's voice changed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Kimmensen. Once more, I have to apologize. I ought to have known better. Bendix must have done it by himself. I should have known--" "No. No," Kimmensen sighed, "forget it, Messerschmidt. We did it together." Messerschmidt waited a long moment. "I see." His voice was dead. "Well. You asked me if I was going to repudiate the election." "Are you?" "I don't know, yet. I'll have to think. I'll have to do something, won't I?" Kimmensen nodded in the darkness. "Somehow, you've won and I've lost." Suddenly, it was all welling up inside him. "Somehow, you've arranged to win no matter what decent men do!" "All right, Mr. Kimmensen. Have it your way." "Whatever you plan to do now, I'll be home. If you should need me for a firing squad or some similar purpose." Messerschmidt made an annoyed sound. "Mr. Kimmensen, you're notorious for your dramatics, but I think that's going too far." He walked away into the darkness. Kimmensen climbed into his plane, sick at the night that covered him, and furious at Messerschmidt's ruthlessly sharp mind.