This could be just a job, a very good job while it lasted--say three or four years--until they had learned all they need to know. Perhaps there would be other men blended more scientifically than he had been. But he could accumulate enough money to last the rest of his life, or perhaps turn his many new talents to something else. There were many things he would like to do, and he was ahead of everyone else now, even though in three or four years he would no longer be unique. Except, of course, in his body. And there it was again. Was there nothing he could do to get away from it? He had no memory of Erica except for the one night, but it was enough to convince him. What would their future be like in what was sure to follow? After that broadcast, he would be a person of some note, but would that stop laughter? Would she wait until he left the room before she giggled? He'd come to terms with _Interplanet_, but first he had to come to terms with himself ... and he hadn't. How good was his imaginary Wysocki's theorem? Could it take one last extension? He counted what was left of the money Erica had given him. It wasn't much, but with it he could leave the city. And he had to. V It was dusk when he slipped out of the room and later still when the plane lifted away from the station. It was an ancient jet, long since relegated to cheap overnight service where speed was not a factor and price was. He knew he was taking a chance and half expected to be stopped, but apparently not many people had listened to the broadcast. Casual glances slid off him and didn't linger. Partly, he suspected, because he had pulled his hat over his face and thrust his hands in the jacket. He'd gotten away in time, but by the morning there would be people on the streets looking for him. He stared at the approximation of a port. When this ship had been built, there was some feeling against the practice and so the row of picture tubes had been camouflaged as ports in the wall. There was a station selector switch, but none for _on_ or _off_. He glowered at the picture at his elbow and turned to the least annoying thing he could find. Across the aisle, there were three other programs he could see distinctly. The one directly opposite was a repeat of the broadcast he had heard a few hours previously. He scowled and looked away. If it hadn't been a night plane, in which people sought sleep, he would certainly have been spotted. Apathy was his best protection. He hunched down in his seat and dozed off. When he awakened, the familiar _Interplanet_ program was at his elbow. He reached to change stations, then on impulse let his hand continue past the knob until he felt the ash tray. He unfastened the heavy article and poked it through the screen.