"Ah!" she exclaimed, pulling out a magazine. She fished some change from the little purse on her belt and passed it to the newsstand operator. "Okay, let's go." "What've you got there?" Morrow asked. "You can see it after I have," she retorted. "Why don't you buy one yourself, for a change?" She flipped through the magazine's pages as they walked along. Morrow took her elbow, guided her around a telephone pole, and maintained a discreet silence. As they seated themselves in a booth, Gwyn closed the magazine and slid it across to him. Smiling, Morrow glanced down at it--then stiffened, staring at the cover illustration. It was no more than a typical science-fiction cover. The setting was a typical street scene at night--some dark side-street in the metropolitan section of some city like New York. In the foreground stood a young man.... But from there on, it was nothing ordinary. The young man was slumped back against the wall of a building as if he were trying to mold himself right into it. The expression on his face was one of mixed surprise, incredulity, and fear. It showed plainly that he knew no one else would believe him if he told what he was seeing; and furthermore, he didn't believe it himself. In the background, farther up the street, a group of people were emerging from a doorway. A beautiful girl was in the lead, and behind her came creatures that looked like men with blue skins, except that they had tentacles instead of arms. The light of a street lamp revealed the skin-tight garments they were wearing, and the octopus-armed men had transparent helmets over their hairless heads. The girl wore a helmet that was thrown back. And before them was a tall, gleaming rocket ship, standing on its tail-fins in the middle of the street! And the young onlooker _didn't believe it_! "She _is_ pretty, isn't she!" Gwyn's acid tones cut through his thoughts. Morrow noticed, then, that the cover-girl's costume was not only skin-tight, but there wasn't much of it. He grinned wordlessly, then thumbed through the rest of the magazine. Its pages hardly registered on his mind. He was beginning to form an idea.... * * * * * By the end of the following week, Morrow had convinced everyone at the labs that he was a heel. But that wasn't all. He also _felt_ like a heel. It began the first day, with Borgesdorf. Alec Borgesdorf was chief of the Research Division. He sent word for Morrow to drop into his office. When Morrow walked in, he saw his letter of resignation on the desk. Borgesdorf was grinning and frowning at the same time. "What the hell _is_ this, Bill?" he asked good-naturedly. "What's it look like, 'Greetings from the President?'" Morrow retorted. Borgesdorf's grin faltered. His frown turned to amazement. "Well holy cow, Bill!" he exclaimed. "What's the trouble? Why're you quitting?" "I'm quitting this whole blasted mess!" Morrow said flatly. "Does that answer your question?"