"Again, it doesn't matter very much." He sat down and rubbed his chin. "If we let you go back, do you think he'd let you see how they're organizing their operation? True, it would be more convenient for him if, for a few more days, we wouldn't be investigating him--that's why he took the chance of letting you report back here and avoided the Probationary hunt. To his way of thinking, chances are that you'll want further dosages and keep quiet. But why should we expose you further to that stuff when the possible sacrifice involved won't give us any more information?" "Then you're just going to surrender the point, let him realize you know and won't do anything about it?" "Not exactly. The best we can do is keep him uncertain about you. Officially, you've been arrested for insubordinate behavior by a martinet General who's decided to make a horrible example of you. Someone looking like you is going to be seen entering a punishment craft heading for a monotony run to check the automatic satellites around Uranus. That's the stupid best we can do--we're over a barrel." His sharp eyes suddenly dug into Cramer's. "You'll be in isolation quarters for the next few hours. I only hope that you'll deserve to stay there, that your story is all malicious nonsense!" * * * * * Cramer was escorted to a small cell where there were no audio-visuals, only old-fashioned printed books. He picked up a few of them, stared at the title pages without knowing what he was reading, then began to pace his cell. What if they didn't find a germ sample? After all, nobody had ever spotted the stuff before. No, they knew what to look for now and that made a difference. But maybe it didn't in this case. And what made them feel so helpless? What gave Hartley that much of an advantage over a General of the Space Deeps? Nothing added up and it seemed he had been shuffling the crazy pieces for a week when they came to take him back to Chisholm's office. The clock, though, told him only eight hours had passed. Another man was in Chisholm's office now and he recognized him as soon as he came in--Shelby Johnson, President of North America. The newcomer nodded grimly as they were introduced to each other. "President Johnson is here incognito, came by a private entrance," Chisholm explained. "You're not to mention this anywhere." "A real mess!" Johnson exclaimed. "But at least there was someone decent enough to give us forewarning. This stuff's supposed to be so effective, no hangover, no known damage to the system--why didn't you go along with Hartley's reasoning?" "There has to be some bad long-range effect, nothing comes that cheap." "I only hope you're right." Johnson's grey eyes seemed to be focussed far off. "Otherwise the social damage will be terrible." "_Everything_ you told me has been confirmed," said Chisholm. "Scouts had no trouble finding a batch and the tests confirm that it's seemingly harmless, breaks down completely."