Frank knitted his brows, and cupped his upper lip in the moist curve of his lower before replying, without emotion, "Depends." He fiddled with the button again, then gave it up and stood. He preferred pacing as he talked. "It's--Well, it's about Andra, Bob." Lennick stiffened. "They _got_ her...?" His relief was only a conditional relaxation when the other man shook his head; he was keyed to tighten up again without notice. "So where _is_ she? _How_ is she?" "Fine, to answer your second question. I don't know the answer to the first, though I could make some guesses. The thing is--We better get the word out to the others not to try and contact her." "_Not_ to--!?" said Lennick, stunned. "But she needs help, bad. She has to hide until we can--!... Frank, what's the matter? You look so damned funny!" "Okay, I'll level with you, Bob." Frank stood at the front of the desk and leaned his hands on the blotter, staring down at the anxious face of his friend. "Last night, after her escape, Andra tried to hide in the Temple, up on ninety-five. The Goons were right after her, Bob. There wasn't even any Service because of her. Every person in that Temple was checked--_one_ by _one_--for Voteplates. She _had_ one, Bob. She got _out_." "That's crazy!" Lennick gasped. "Where in hell--? Frank, I _saw_ them collect her Voteplate after the accident. She couldn't have gotten it back. And she couldn't have a _spare_, I know, so--?" He saw the uneasiness still in the man Frank's features, and was quiet. "There's _more_...?" "After her escape," Frank said flatly, taking no joy in telling the tale, "She met a man, outside the arcade, went with him for cocktails, then up to his level. That's the last she was seen, Bob. It was the Hundred-Level. None of us are authorized to go that high without escort." "But who the hell did _Andra_ know on the top?" Bob blurted. "She's given autographs to a few higher-ups, but--" "It was Lloyd Bodger, Junior, Bob. They acted like old friends. _Now_ do you see why I think it's unwise if she's contacted?" * * * * * Lennick suddenly surged from his chair and nearly tore the shirtfront from his visitor in an angry fist, as he yanked the other's face close to his own. "You can't mean that about Andra, Frank. You _know_ her! You've worked with her--And I ... I know her better than anyone, Frank. She's not a traitor. She wouldn't betray us." "I wish," said Frank, calmly ignoring the enraged aspect of Lennick's attitude, "you'd put your heart back where it belongs and think it over just once with your brains...." Bright beads of moisture suddenly appeared in Lennick's eyes, and he released his grasp of the other man's shirt and sank down into his chair, burying his face upon his arms. "There's an explanation," he mumbled into the blotter. "I know there is. She wouldn't--" he lifted his head, suddenly hopeful. "Frank, we're still _here_! If she told all she knew, we'd be atomized by now, right?"