In one unsensationally worded paragraph, it stated conclusively that definite evidence had finally been obtained regarding the Palisades Query. There had been a physical transferral of subjects (ref. PQ 1579J-2z) on several occasions, first known being 9/12/76; most recent, 3/14/77; two known dates in between, and three suspected. Transferral in small quantity, but sufficient for purpose of investigation by instigators. Which meant simply that on at least four occasions, small, but significant, samples of Mars-bugs _had_ been successfully turned over to agents of Red Dome, where said samples might now be assumed to have flourished and multiplied, and to be under study at _least_ as intensive as that at Playfair. The General pursed his lips thoughtfully. He removed the film, and held a match to the edge, dropped it into a metal bowl set with precision at the right front edge of the desk top, watched it dissolve into smoke and a small residue of chemical matter. He repeated the procedure with Chris’s report, smiling as he thought about Ray McLafferty: _Lordy, what he’d give to see that damn paper!_ The smile was because there was no possibility that any such information could get to the Congressman’s hands. _Dollars Dome--Tuesday, August 30, 1977_ “I hate to stop and eat, even,” she said. Her cheeks were pink, and her smile was one of pure sensual pleasure. You could see in the way she walked that she was still feeling the wild pleasures of leaps and pirouettes to soaring music, free from the weight of a lifetime on Earth. “You know, I just can’t figure out why I never even _thought_ of it till they asked!” Phil smiled, and manufactured a leer. “Come let me show you my couch,” he said. “We’ll find _out_ why.” “Darling,” she said, “But I’m _hungry_.” “Wellll--okay,” he said. “_After_ dinner.” They laughed at each other, and impulsively, she reached for his hand as they walked into the dining room. Damn if it wasn’t catching, he thought with amusement, and yet with a sharpening edge of concern--because it just didn’t _fit_. But when you looked at the tables in here, the groups of two, four, five, six, eating and talking and smiling.... It reminded him of something dim, in the background of memory.... He caught it: photographs, in his childhood, of Israeli and Russian co-ops. Propaganda shots, of happy smiling healthy “free workers.” But the scene here was not posed. It was for real. And it went on all the time, all the hell over the slaphappy Dome. _And_ it was getting more pronounced. He noticed it more than he had at first, in spite of getting used to it. _And_ he thought it had started to show up in the clinical picture too. Nothing conclusive yet, but-- “Hey?” She’d said something he missed. “Just--I wish I was going to have time to _do_ that show.” “Well, why not? Chris said something about them calling again today. If you gave the word now, I’ll bet they’d get it set for tomorrow night?”