“So I don’t know. I’m just trying everything I have. Or can get. Including--” He hovered on the brink of filling in the rest of the picture, and decided against it. Not till he knew Phil Kutler a little more. And not till Harbridge was fully committed. “Including you, and Wendt, and the psych program and the bug research, and anything else I can dream up that might either be some _real_ help, or might work to push Congress the right way, or both.” “But right now if you have to make a choice, what counts is the propaganda end of it?” “Frankly--yes.” “Okay.” The doctor stood up. “I just like to know what I’m doing when I do it. Where do I sign up?” Chris stood too and held out his hand. “You just did. I’ll get the contracts and stuff taken care of. When do you think you can start?” “Hard to say for sure. As soon as possible--could be two weeks, could be six. I can’t make the move till I get my patients settled with other men. Call it three-four weeks, with moderate luck.” “From when you go down?” Chris frowned. Add a week and a half, and it was going to run right into September anyhow. Kutler nodded. “Is it too late to catch the Messenger back this trip?” He hadn’t thought of that. “No. The passenger shuttles don’t leave till evening anyhow. But don’t you need more time--?” “What for? I had my case histories before I came up, and I’d already seen twenty-five per cent of your people. I’ve seen enough up here now to know there’s a job to do, and I want to do it. The rest can wait.” Chris nodded. _Damn it, I like this guy!_ He thought. Then he remembered. He switched on the deskreader and flicked back to Lisa’s letter. “Say, I almost forgot, Lee sent you all kinds of regards.” * * * * * He was ridiculously conscious of Chris’ eyes on his face as he read, and of his own determinedly neutral expression. The note was typically Lisa: the wording, punctuation, even the typing, held that quality of--what?--mock-effrontery?--that had drawn him so strongly that day in front of the restaurant. Then he got to the bottom, and smiled. Great little intriguer _she’d_ make--like real subtle messages, hey? “I take it she thinks I should haul out of here before Buster gets on board,” he murmured. “Well, you thought so too, didn’t you?” He nodded and glanced at the other man’s face. _Just what is it that girl’s got?_ he wondered again. _And what difference does it make? Never mind her ... what about him?_ “Looks like _some_thing’s going on with our boy, anyhow,” he said carefully. “Maybe my hunch wasn’t all the way off after all. I’m glad you got up there, Chris. Maybe you scared him back to work at least.” _Unless she meant “sideboard” where she wrote “drawing board.”_ Chris switched off the screen. “That’s quite a gal,” he said--a shade too casually. “First time you met her?” Phil asked. “Yup.” _Very_ casual now. “What’s with those two, Phil? I mean--” He let it trail off.