"The advance parties should leave in a fortnight." "Somebody should go from here, and since you can't go, that means me." I had no wish to be a hero but there is a certain pride in a man. Our laboratory was the biggest, and I thought the best, virus research center in Canada. Somebody obviously had to do the dirty work if we were to be saved from destruction. Sooner or later the measlepox would invade the Americas or be brought in deliberately by the Reds. To paraphrase the old saying, as they wouldn't "let George do it," and as George was my boss, I was next in line. The Chief was nodding his head in reluctant agreement as these thoughts ran in my head. "Hold on a minute, there," Harry had come out of his trance and the sadness in his face was replaced by the excited, determined look of the volunteer, the man with an ideal. "This job is mine, it has to be!" Polly was staring at him, her mouth half open, her drink stopped on the way to her lips. She put it down and spread her hands in appeal. "I declare, the man's just naturally crazy," she said to Pat. "They both are," Pat muttered angrily. None of the men paid any attention. "Why so, Harry?" Dr. Hallam asked. "Sir, I've never said much about my parents except that they were medical missionaries in China and that I grew up there before the Second World War. You knew that, didn't you?" The Chief nodded in agreement. "Well, there's one point in my favor. I speak several Chinese dialects and can work without an interpreter. If we go to the mainland I know my way about, too. And I know enough virology to do field work." Hallam nodded again. "That's true enough." "But that's not all. I have a personal score to settle with the Reds and by God, here's my chance!" He leaned forward and almost spat the words right into Hallam's astonished eyes. Seeing Harry get angry was something like seeing an iceberg suddenly spout fire. "I told you that my parents were missionaries in China. What I didn't tell you is that they never got out!" He stopped. The rush of angry words from his flushed face died away into the room. In my mind they echoed again. "They never got out ... never got out ... never." We waited. The soft rustle of the flames seemed loud as their shadows wavered on the circle of still faces, all eyes were riveted on Harry. More quietly now, his face once more almost its impassive self, he went on.