"Well--" It was such a pointless question, it seemed silly to even answer it. "They're supposed to look for indications of an attack by one of the other projects." "And do they find any indications, ever?" "I'm sure I don't know," I told him frostily. "That would be classified information." "You bet it would," he said, with malicious glee. "All right, if that's what _your_ spies are doing, and if _I'm_ a spy, then it follows that I'm doing the same thing, right?" "I don't follow you," I admitted. "If I'm a spy," he said impatiently, "then I'm supposed to look for indications of an attack by you people on my Project." I shrugged. "If that's your job," I said, "then that's your job." He got suddenly red-faced, and jumped to his feet. "That's _not_ my job, you blatant idiot!" he shouted. "I'm not a spy! If I _were_ a spy, _then_ that would be my job!" * * * * * The maniac had returned, in full force. "All right," I said hastily. "All right, whatever you say." He glowered at me a moment longer, then shouted, "Bah!" and dropped back into the chair. He breathed rather heavily for a while, glaring at the floor, then looked at me again. "All right, listen. What if I were to tell you that I _had_ found indications that you people were planning to attack my Project?" I stared at him. "That's impossible!" I cried. "We aren't planning to attack anybody! We just want to be left in peace!" "How do I know that?" he demanded. "It's the truth! What would we want to attack anybody for?" "Ah hah!" He sat forward, tensed, pointing the gun at me like a finger again. "Now, then," he said. "If you know it doesn't make any sense for this Project to attack any other project, then why in the world should you think _they_ might see some advantage in attacking _you_?" I shook my head, dumbfounded. "I can't answer a question like that," I said. "How do I know what they're thinking?" "They're human beings, aren't they?" he cried. "Like you? Like me? Like all the other people in this mausoleum?" "Now, wait a minute--" "No!" he shouted. "You wait a minute! I want to tell you something. You think I'm a spy. That blundering Army of yours thinks I'm a spy. That fathead who turned me in thinks I'm a spy. But I'm _not_ a spy, and I'm going to tell you what I am." I waited, looking as attentive as possible. "I come," he said, "from a Project about eighty miles north of here. I came here by foot, without any sort of radiation shield at all to protect me." The maniac was back. I didn't say a word. I didn't want to set off the violence that was so obviously in this lunatic.