Justin gulped as the implication sank home. If he were the last it meant, as his host had already implied, that the sands of Earth, or at least of human existence on Earth, had about run out. It implied that his was the ultimate decision upon which the final fate of the planet hung. "Naturally," said Ortine pleasantly, "I shall give you time to become used to following the course you must take. You are perfectly free to roam Belvoir for the next few hours...." V With Ortine gone Justin paced his cubicle, trying to digest what he had been told and wishing he had asked his host to provide him with a supply of smokes. His dream was getting seriously out of hand. Or was it a dream? It occurred to him that if not a dream it must be madness. And then, for the first time, he began to wonder if the journey by train through space, if Belvoir and its inhabitants, especially Ortine and the assignment he had outlined, might not be real after all. Even before the gates of fantasy closed behind him, Justin had recognized that his decision to back Henri Dubois could well be the key to the entire future of Missionism. As such it was entirely possible that upon that decision might depend the immediate future of humanity--if humanity still had a future. Perhaps some of these others had played similar roles in their otherwise inconspicuous lifetimes. He made up his mind to find out, walked toward the door of his cubicle, almost bumped into the trouserless Dr. Phillips, who chose that moment to enter. "I was about to go looking for you," Justin told him. "Come in." Phillips entered. He said, "I take it you have been visited by our host--like the rest of us." "You mean he visited you at the same time he was talking to me?" Justin asked, surprised. "He is a gentleman of remarkable abilities," Dr. Phillips told Justin, sitting down as he spoke on the chair. "Of course it is some form of mass-mesmerism." "Possibly," Justin replied cautiously. "It can scarcely be anything else," Dr. Phillips informed him. "Until my enforced visit to Belvoir I have been inclined to regard all such marginal devices as fraudulent. Now...." "It could have been something in the food," Justin suggested. "But that's a technicality, doctor. What interests me is the nature of your assignment--if you don't mind telling me about it." Dr. Phillips laughed--a shrill bark of embarrassment. He said, "Not at all, Justin, not at all. I'm a university don, you know." He sighed. "Fusty sort of work but it maintains me. At the moment I've been serving as temporary dean of admissions. When I retired for my nap"--he looked with more puzzlement than abashment at his trouserless shanks--"I was on the eve of tackling a batch of applications for the new semester. Beastly repetitious sort of work." He sighed again. "And Ortine has asked you to grade some student's paper in a certain way for the good of the world?" Justin asked eagerly.