"I should be humble about this," Cargill said. "The solution came less from my own endeavors than by accident. Did you know a man-a Superior, I should say-named Blalock?"

"He jumped off the top of the Ferry Tower."

"Yes. And died. But, before taking the final plunge, in a raving fit-my police duties include suicide as well as murder-Blalock spurted out the brief facts of his life. I suspect others-keeping in mind your racial tendency toward flipping out-have heard the same story. There was one significant difference in the response this time. While the others had undoubtedly dismissed the story as the paranoid ravings of a madman, I chose to believe every word Blalock said."

"Good for you."

Cargill nodded. "Thank you. But-the story I got from Blalock-it was naturally somewhat sketchy and disorganized. So I did some additional checking and snooping and, along the way, managed to uncover a second common denominator, one apparently ignored by the computers as unexceptional-the present dwindling birthrate, you know. I refer, of course, to your lack of natural offspring. Not a statistical impossibility-hardly-but, in view of your lack of known parentage, intriguing."

"We're sterile," Alec said, dully. "So what?"

Cargill nodded, smiling. "I know."

"Is there anything you don't know?" Alec asked, more wistful than arrogant. Cargill's knowledge seemed to strip him of whatever identity he had left to himself. His life was public property. He belonged to others-to Cargill, to anyone with a penchant for snooping. It made him sick.

"I delivered my report," Cargill continued. "The facts as I knew them. That you were an apparently advanced form of humanity. Extremely intelligent. Presumably a mutation. At the time I had not confirmed the presence of the telepathic factor and so did not mention it."

"Not telepathy," Alec said.

"Yes, I realized that soon enough. The limitations of the talent, that is. I got to know a few of you rather well. I asked questions here and there. It soon became clear that no one was able to read my mind, that I could conceal what I wished from you with no great expense of effort and that concealment in itself was not sufficiently extraordinary to arouse suspicion."

"Incomplete," Alec murmured. "Incomplete supermen."

"Well put. Yes-exactly. But-back to my report-I made a recommendation which, as far as I know, was accepted. I described you as a sterile mutation unable to survive into a second generation. Thus, I recommended that no specific action be taken against you. I pointed out that the majority of your people were more apt to aid the common public good through your undeniable ability and intelligence-your android project is a prime example of what I meant-rather than harm it."

"Us?" Alec was laughing. "Harmless? Oh, if only you knew." The revelation that Cargill did not know everything struck Alec as tremendously amusing. He couldn't stop laughing. It was so funny. Then why not tell him everything? Let him know just how ridiculous he was? Harmless? "Don't you read the headlines?" he cried. "Don't you know that war is coming? That civilization is about to perish? Harmless? Us? That war happens to be our war. We started it-you'll fight it-and, in the end, we'll win it."

Cargill shook his head and deliberately radiated great sadness. He waved a limp hand toward the back room. "She started it, Alec. Not you."

He had had enough. He came to his feet, waving his arms furiously. "Leave her alone! Haven't you done enough? You killed her. What more-?"

"Sit down," Cargill said, sharply.

"But-" Alec shrugged and sat.

"Listen to me," Cargill said. "Don't you want to know the truth?"

"Not if it's really all lies. She never started anything in her life."

"Not by herself, no. I'm talking about those men and women-those individuals-Sylvia was one, but hardly the only one-of whose existence you have long been aware."

"The others."

"You call them that. More accurately, they are the unknown mothers and fathers of your race."

"Sylvia? My mother?" Alec laughed.

"That is possible, though not, I grant, very likely."

"Nothing that you say is."

"Then-" Cargill smiled "-you tell me: who are they?"

"What? The others? Why, I-" Alec stopped, confused. "I'm not sure. We never really knew. People, I guess. People who learned what we were and tried-they used to burn witches."

"Weren't you listening?" Cargill asked, like a stern teacher correcting a lazy pupil. "Didn't you hear me describe my report? A decision was made to ignore your people. I can assure you no vigilante group has been formed to do what the government chooses not to do. The others are not human beings, Alec. Think again."

"I don't believe you," he finally said.

Cargill smiled warmly, as if this were the answer he had been seeking. "Of course you don't. Why? Because they wouldn't let you. But that does not change the facts. They are who they are. They possess the ability-in how great a measure I do not know-to control the thoughts and feelings of others. That was why, as soon as Sylvia entered the room, I knew I had to kill her in an instant."

"And you did," Alec said. They were back there again. In that room. The body. The gaping hole. The blood.

"I employed the same ruthlessness she employed when she murdered Mencken and Ralston. No more, no less."

"Sylvia didn't kill Mencken." There was a fact that exploded that theory. Alec struggled to recollect it. "He was her father."

"Oh, no. Like you, Sylvia was an orphan. She entered Mencken's household some two years ago and rather extraordinarily-since she was twenty-four-he adopted her." Then, displaying the first real human emotion since Alec had known him, Cargill stood up, circled the desk, came over, and laid a thin arm across Alec's shoulders.

"I'm very sorry. But the facts, alas, are the facts. They cannot be made otherwise."

"Why?" Alec asked.

"Why did she kill him? That's easy enough. The android project. I believe he wished to stop."

"He used to talk about it but-"

"And he was involved in the Ah Tran movement, I believe."

"Yes, but what-?"

Cargill raised his free hand. "We can discuss all that later. For now, I think it's sufficient to point out that Mencken's murder was not without its blessing. The killing brought me into the case. Knowing who you and your wife really were caused me to take an especially active interest in the matter. I did a little snooping-quite a little, in fact. And there was also the fact that, somewhat before the murder, Anna hired me to find her father. However, before I could complete my investigation, she suddenly-I told you this-took me off the case. I became suspicious. I did a little snooping. I found the father and, in the course of that, cracked the whole mess wide open."

"Her father? You found him. But he's dead, the same as mine."

"I expect yours is quite alive too. Anna's father, a creature named Karlton Ford, lives in Wyoming. He is an extremely wealthy individual. This war you are so eager to claim as your own-my research indicates the greater share of the credit should go to Mr. Ford."

Alec shook his head. In spite of himself, he was listening now. But he was confused. Cargill seemed to enjoy establishing a set of wild premises and then, a moment later, casually destroying the framework he had so carefully erected and introducing some wholly new outrageous fact. "I'm afraid you'll have to explain more fully," he said, at last.

Cargill agreed. Drawing away, he paced the room, telling Alec what he knew about the Inheritors, their plans for the war, their talents and abilities and the nature of their hybrid descendants. "I consider it amazing," Cargill said, "that they did not choose to kill all of you at birth. Too difficult, perhaps-or too dangerous-and they may have guessed that you would prove helpful later in furthering their ends."

Alec held himself in check, striving to suppress the desire, the urge, but finally he could not resist.

He laughed.

Cargill stopped pacing and turned, plainly horrified. "Don't you believe me? I have proof-firm proof-evidence. I can-"

"I believe you," Alec said.