It was Maxwell who answered. "Your brother-in-law received a long-distance emergency call from you at noon today, telling him to join you immediately. Vision-reception was fuzzy, but he recognized your voice and took the first strato. I changed places with him in Denver, where I happened to be stationed, and he was smuggled back home. He's with his family, but he'll have to stay in for a few days." I shook my head. "It's marvelous. Thoroughness personified. Say, I'll bet you fellows even thought of getting defense mechanisms ... but where are they?" Johnson and Maxwell looked at each other, jaws hanging. "Well, I'll be damned!" Johnson said bitterly. "Thoroughness personified! Son of a...." He slapped his hat on his bald head and dashed out the door without looking back. Maxwell grimaced. He got up from the bed and walked to an easy chair and sat down again. "Well, Irvin Johnson will take care of _that_ little detail. But it's going to take time...." "It would have taken time anyway--a day or so--even if you'd thought of it first thing," I said. "Besides, there's no danger until they find your wave-band, and that takes time, too." But he remained disconsolate. Not because of the danger, but simply because they'd overlooked an angle. Under a system in which the agents are given maximum responsibility for details and planning, that would count heavily against them on their records. I almost felt guilty for reminding them. I said, "John, look--if all else fails, there's one sure quick defense. Alcohol. I would say that under the circumstances, since you're supposed to be protecting _me_, we should keep _you_ as well defended as possible." "M'm?" "You do drink, don't you?" I asked. "Like a fish," Maxwell said, lunging to his feet. * * * * * When we were back in the room, Maxwell said: "Hell, I don't see that telenoshis is such a damn menash to society, if all you have to do is get drunk." "You want a nation of alcoholics?" I said. I sat down on the bed and untied my shoes. "Anyway, whasha difference? D. T. horrors or 'noshis horrors? Whash worse?" Maxwell grunted. We both had to sleep in the same bed, and Maxwell was a restless sleeper. I had finally crept into the lower depths of slumber, where it was warm and snug, when he poked me sharply in the ribs. "What's that?" he demanded. He was sitting up. "What's what?" "Listen!" I heard it. _Click-click-click...._ "What time is it?" I asked. My eyes were still closed, and I was damned if I was going to open them. "Three fifty-seven. But what is--" "Defense mech," I said. "Right on time. Every twelve hours. Tries to get me. Now go sleep."