Lionel smiled tolerantly. "If you have a flat table and a pile of kid's toy blocks, you can either build a structure or lay 'em on the table in a single layer. Since molecules are often called the building-blocks of the universe, the analogy is quite clear. The blocks in a single layer form a monomolecular layer. Fission reaction is a self-sustaining nuclear reaction." "Sounds quite erudite." "In the first place, no one with any sense would try to make use of it. It is the type of volume that a physicist would write in the hope that he will get letters pro and con on the subject which will be useful in forming a later theory." "Then it is not a complete waste of time." "Any time I lay out nine bucks for a half-inch of paper--" "Expensive, isn't it?" asked the doctor. "Sure. Those things are not best sellers, usually. The publisher puts it out in the name of science and must at least get his printing cost out of the very limited edition." "I see. And you want to get rid of this physicist?" "Who wouldn't? After all, I had this body first. He's an interloper." "Seems that way." "It is--and it's annoying." "We may be able to do something about it," said the psychiatrist. "Permit me to think about this for a few days. We'll have another consultation in a week. We may require another one before I make a decision. But it seems to me that you are both intelligent, useful citizens. Neither of you is irresponsible or dangerous. You have enough money to afford schizophrenia for a while. Especially if the personality B dreams up things that personality A makes practical, financially advantageous use of. Ergo you need fear nothing for a few weeks." "Ugh. Means I'll have to go out and buy another high-frequency heater. O.K., doctor. I'll lay low." * * * * * Thomas Lionel, Ph.D., M.M., awoke with a shake of his head. At once, he was out of bed. He consulted first the calendar and then the clock. The thought struck him funny. He hadn't been drinking, but the idea of looking at a calendar upon awakening might be construed as an admission that he didn't know what time of what day it was. Or mayhap what month. "I've been away again," he grunted. He dressed by stages. At the trousers department, Thomas wandered out into the living room and stood over the chessboard, studying the set-up. He removed the little sign that said: CHECK! and dropped it into the drawer again. He moved his king aside with a contemplative smile. His queen was gone on the next move, he knew. So he had lost a major piece. So that other bird thought that losing a major piece was bad, huh? Well, winning battles does not count--it is a matter of who wins the last one.