"And what did you tell her?"

"Nothing in particular. We discussed the firm. It's hers now. She's my boss."

The voice was growing increasingly frantic; hysteria was not far away. "But are you not aware that such intercourse is strictly forbidden? Your Inner Circle has decreed that-"

"I couldn't very well wait for a vote," Alec said. "She asked to see me right away."

"And you told her-everything?"

"No."

"You told her you were a Superior. The Inner Circle. Their program, plans. You told her everything, didn't you?"

"No. Why should I-?"

"Liar!" Again, the hand. Alec saw it coming this time and was able to throw his head aside. He took the blow on his cheek. The flesh stung.

Inside Alec a terrible suspicion was growing. These men didn't intend to kill him, after all. They were not even the others. They were-

"What did you tell the police?"

Alec decided to act on his suspicion. Wasn't it better to know? "Everything," he said.

"What?"

"I told you-everything." And in his mind he conjured up a vision of his confession. Cargill sat across from him. His own hands waved like windmills as he spoke. "About the Superiors. The Inner Circle. Everything."

"No! You-!"

He shut down the vision. "If I'm the traitor you seem to think I am, doesn't that make sense? How can I be a traitor and keep my mouth shut all at the same time? Yes, I told Cargill everything. And Sylvia too. I tell everyone everything. I tell them all about you, Astor." And, saying this, he sat up as straight as he could and glared into the darkness, radiating as much hate as he had strength to create.

He heard one of them shout out, but Astor's voice-no longer distorted-was amused: "You are much more intelligent than you once were, Alec."

"I'm getting older. Now turn that light aside. And untie me."

"So soon?"

"Unless you still think I can't be trusted."

"No. We never did. But, Alec, you should know better than to violate our decrees. We-"

"Turn me loose, Astor."

"Certainly, Alec." The harsh light went out. A faint glow-emanating from across the ceiling-came instead. The round, moon-like face of Samuel Astor was smiling at Alec. Another pair of hands attacked his ropes.

"When I get loose, I ought to kill you."

"But, Alec," said Astor. "Can't you understand? We had to know the limits of your deviation."

"What deviation?"

"That woman. She-"

"How ridiculous can you get?" He sprang out of the chair, free now, and almost fell over. Standing on wobbly knees, he struggled to regain his balance.

"This is standard procedure," Astor said, coming over and roping an arm past Alec's shoulders. He patted him on the back. "An investigation. A punishment for your transgression. But-I am pleased to add-an initiation rite as well. Welcome-" Astor suddenly stuck out his free hand "-to the Inner Circle."

"What?" Alec mechanically accepted the proffered hand, shaking weakly. Turning away from Astor, he gave the room a close inspection. It was small-furnished in austere plastic-dully painted: a hotel room, no doubt. There were other men here too. He recognized Arthur Ramsey, second-in-command within the Circle. Antonio Martinez. Ernest Feralli. Axel Jorgensen. Chinua Nodawbe. Timothy Ralston. Chin Kao Lun. And the others. Yes, all of them were present: the entire Inner Circle.

"Shortly before your arrival," Astor was announcing, "we cast our ballots. The selection-tentative upon your innocence of any major transgression-was quite unanimous. You are one of us now, Alec."

Replacing his arm around Alec's shoulders, Astor steered him toward a connecting door. One of the others-Martinez-a small, light-skinned South American-opened the door and ushered them through. This room, not much larger than the first, was dominated by a long table; a dozen chairs had been neatly placed around it. Astor escorted Alec to a chair, then assumed his own place at the head of the table. One by one, the others drifted in and, when everyone seemed comfortable, Astor opened the meeting.

If any stranger for any reason-deliberate or not-had managed to sneak close enough to overhear the conversation that now took place, he would have learned nothing. During the course of the meeting, no more than a dozen decipherable words would be spoken. If any Superior's thoughts became too complex to be communicated simply through feeling, then a grunt, a half-word, a few casual sounds would be sufficient to get his meaning across in most instances.

Without words, Astor began: "I want to say that Alec Richmond has consented to attend his first meeting today. As you may recall, he was elected to our council recently because of the superb work he has accomplished out in California. Before we begin the actual meeting, I think we ought to stand and welcome him properly to the Circle."

This proved to be a signal for a brief orgy of handshaking, backslapping, friendly pats, and spoken congratulations. Alec came to his feet, accepting the plaudits as thickly as they arrived. The ceremony took only a brief moment. Soon, everyone was seated once more. Alec dropped down and clasped his hands upon the tabletop.

Astor said, "You may think us callous, Alec, but we are aware of the recent death of your employer. He was a human, but he had helped us, and therefore we're sorry he died. Still, the incident in no way detracts from the essential nature of your work. We understand the project has in no way been harmed."

"No," Alec said, keeping the fact of his ambiguous statements to Sylvia closely concealed. After all, he had never really intended to quit. Had he?

"But-" Astor waggled an angry finger "-I must state that your failure to communicate with us following the incident severely damaged your application. If it hadn't been for the importance of the project... well, you might actually have been turned down. When we spoke to Anna, she of course explained everything. Understanding, we could forgive."

"Anna told you."

"She explained your-ah-your difficulty."

He meant reversion. It wasn't a word any Superior cared to state specifically. Alec had difficulty concealing his surprised reaction. Anna must have thought quickly.

Reversion indeed. He hadn't notified the Circle of Ted's death for a variety of reasons: lack of time, lack of interest, the fact that they would be of no help. But Anna had certainly saved him there. But if they had known the facts all the time, then why the stupid kidnapping, the absurd interrogation? He felt himself growing angry again and fought to control the emotion. This was hardly the time for an outburst of any kind.

"Thank you," was all Alec could manage.

"You're welcome," said Astor, nodding his acceptance. Around the table, the others did the same, as though Alec's gratitude was to be shared equally.

Astor stood, facing the entire council now. "But the purpose of this meeting is not to receive expressions of gratitude. Rather it is to take a glance at and then discuss the present international situation. I am pleased to be able to report-after considerable examination of the various nations concerned-that the world is closer to war at this point in time than at any other point in time in the remembered past."

The pleasure this announcement brought to the majority of the assembled Superiors was openly expressed. Some smiled, waved their hand, laughed, giggled, murmured vague syllables of expressive joy. Alec sat silently and motionlessly, his thoughts under rigid control; they knew how he felt.

"Now if you'll all please lean back," Astor said, "if you'll close your eyes, relax, and watch, I'll give you a brief resume of the present situation."

Astor was the only Superior to have perfected this particular talent. It was this ability-more than anything else-which had allowed him to assume his place at the head of the Circle. Alec did as directed: leaning back, eyes shut, relaxed. In a moment, as if he were dreaming, a vision began to form in his mind. Bit by bit, the vision solidified, becoming more certain in color and texture. Soon, the picture was quite clear. He could see a long paved street. A caption at the bottom of the picture identified the scene as Vienna. Above, in the sky, the fierce growling of burning rockets drowning out the common noises of the street, an airplane slashed through the clouds. The people in the street paused and glanced up, many smiling at this loud manifestation of their collective power. A moment later, Vienna was gone; Berlin materialized instead. A huge army marched through wide streets, heels slapping out a rhythmic message. Tanks drifted languidly through the air, floating past the army, like fat ducks arranged for flight. Missiles rolled past. More planes painted the sky with noise. It was an awesome spectacle of determined might. After Berlin, similar scenes followed in neat progression: Paris, Madrid, Rome, Lisbon, Copenhagen. Then Astor's voice: "The civilized nations of Europe, in conjunction with their American allies, continue to mobilize." A Russian army streamed past. "Manpower, though limited, is strategically deployed. The most sophisticated legal modern weapons are produced and distributed. In each nation across the continent, the single word war rests lightly, familiarly, upon the lips of the people. The recent reduction in energy resources, the scarcity and continued expense of the most basic food items-these factors have combined to cause the average European citizen-particularly those past the age of conscription-to take a more militant stance than before. A recent, successful propaganda campaign-source unknown-(embarrassed but proud giggling greeted this allusion)-emphasizing the continuing upward spiral of primitive nation birthrates has had a powerful effect upon the development of a mature, pragmatic attitude toward final war. In fact, according to many leaders of finance and industry-whose thoughts are easily penetrated, I may say-war has reached the point of verging upon absolute necessity. Only the known strength of the other side stands in the way of immediate attack. Should war occur-and I mean at this moment-the armies of the primitive world would swarm across Europe like hordes of invading insects. In Japan and Australia, the situation is even more difficult."

"Then why do you insist war is near?" asked a skeptical voice. The Russian army continued to stream past, an endless mass of green and brown.

"Because of this," said Astor. The vision was transformed. The interior of a large plant-a factory. Machinery-piston and electric-pounded, whirred, shrieked. Churning motors sent bright sparks flickering through the air. Huge transparent plastic vats filled with thick colorful liquids sat here and there across the concrete floor. Alec nearly laughed: the vision was an adolescent fantasy. This was hardly the way it really was.

But the primary vision-and this made Alec wish to laugh more than anything-the central element in the design-was the assembly line. Here, hooded and goggled men labored to mold separate human appendages into a whole man: hands, legs, heads, internal organs rolled down the conveyer belt. Alec groaned. Didn't Astor know any better? Or was this fantasy in fact deliberate? The scene-bright colors, huge shadows, flying sparks-was staggering in its impact, awesomely effective, an image from some gothic melodrama. Even Alec was not wholly unmoved by the vision.

"What is this?" asked a voice, in hushed tones. "Heaven? Or hell?"