The man across the aisle leaned forward and his head was in front of the picture. Merrol tried to see, but couldn't. "It's up to you," said Crander as he faded from the screen. Merrol tapped the man across the aisle. "Please repeat it." The man glanced around and saw who it was. "Aw, you're the guy who doesn't like that stuff." He jerked his head at the broken screen. The memory cell of the picture tube didn't have a long attention span. It could recall forty-five seconds of the past program and no longer. The broadcast might be repeated, or it might not. Did he want to wait? He reached out his arm--the long one--and fastened onto the man's jacket, giving him a short rough shove. "Repeat it, I said!" The man looked down. He wasn't small himself, but it was a large fist. "Sure thing," he said, jabbing the repeat button. The scene was replayed. "Thanks," said Merrol, letting go. The man looked at his crumpled clothing. "Not at all," he muttered, sliding away against the wall. "Don't mention it." * * * * * The woman was Erica. It was too much of a coincidence that, among so many millions in the city, she should be the one. The hospital and _Interplanet_ were working together and now they had brought in Erica. How gullible did they think he was and how much had they offered her for this? It might not be money, though--they might have convinced her it was to Dan's own best interest that they get in touch with him immediately. They were baiting him crudely and if they weren't, there were others who could respond as well as he. There must be hundreds in the vicinity, scores at any rate, who could qualify. There were enough without him, depending on how often the blood fraction was needed. Crander hadn't said. It was a trick and Erica wasn't ill--or if she was, she would be safe without him. He had to make up his mind before he saw her, and he couldn't. He clenched his hands, both big and little. He had stretched Wysocki's theorem too far and it had failed. "I had a wife once." The voice startled him, but he sat still, hoping to hear it again. Maybe they would tell him what to do. "Not so slender as Erica. Rather bouncy, in fact, but I liked her. Pity she ran away with a coleopterist. Never could understand what she saw in him." The voice grew sad. "_Beetles!_" "My advice is that wives are easily come by," said a theatrical voice, modulated for effect. "But before he shuffles off this mortal coil to the last roundup, every man should have at least one wife like Erica." "I can't speak of wives or women," said the musician. "There's so little memory left, mostly music. But you've been subconsciously humming a tune for days--and I must tell you that Beethoven didn't write anything called Erica. The correct title is Eroica." "One fall don't mean nothing, it's always the best two out of three. The way I see it, you gotta get up. Get close to them, hold them tight, or they'll throw you outta the ring."