It took some talking, to convince her, it took some lies. She'd wait, she agreed finally, in Switzerland. In comfort for a change. It took two diamonds to get to the right man, and it took a formula from there. A formula that is learned in the first year of college chemistry on my planet, a formula for converting an element. A formula this planet couldn't have been more than a decade short of learning, anyway. The last man I saw in Berlin went along, for which I was grateful, though he didn't know that. I don't speak Russian, but he did. They were careful, they don't even trust themselves. I told Nilenoff the formula came from America, and there were more, but I needed money. I didn't tell him the fallacy in the formula; it had taken us three years to realize what it was. My trips were limited, directed, and avoided the seamier side. I saw the modern humming factories, and the mammoth farms. No unemployment, no waste, no "capitalistic blood sucking"--and the lowest standard of living in the industrialized world. A vast, bleak land peopled with stringless puppets, with walking cadavers. I remembered the faces of the crowds and the strangely mixed people in America, their obvious feelings, emotions and rivalries. There was nothing strange about these people of Russia--they were dead, spiritually dead. The country that could have been a cultural and industrial center of the world was a robot-land of nine million square miles, getting ready for war, getting ready to take over the dreams of Hitler and make them come true. I came out with a promise of ten thousand American dollars for every one of the future formulas I had assured them I could get to. I came out with the knowledge that I'd be a watched man from now on. In Switzerland, Jean said, "Well--?" "I'm ready to go home," I told her. "America, you mean?" "Where else?" "I've been alone," she said, "and thinking. I've gone back to Sunset and Pacific Coast Highway and traced it all forward from there. And I don't think America's your home." Very cool her voice, very tense her face. I smiled at her. She didn't smile in return. "Fred--we're married." "I'm glad," I said. "Aren't you?" "It's no time for the light touch." Tears in her eyes. "Fred, are you a--a Russian spy?" I shook my head. "But--" It was a clear night, and I went to the window. How it shone, in that clear air. Jean came over to stand next to me. I pointed, and said, "There's my home." "Venus," she said. "Fred, for heaven's sake--_I'm serious_!" "Some day," I said, "this planet will learn how to see through our manufactured fog. Some day they will develop the vision we developed a century ago. And--" "Damn it, Fred, be serious. If you'd know what I've gone through, alone here, thinking back on all the crazy things you've said and done. What have you told me about yourself, what do I know?" "Nothing," I said. "And what have I asked you about yourself? It's a matter of faith, Jean."