luis waited as long as he could. "you can trace us now," he said. "one person might be difficult. but two of us with nearly the same name, that should stick out big, even in a population of sixteen billion. two people are missing from somewhere. you can find that."

the counselor's face didn't change. "you understand that if you were killed, we'd find the man who did it. i can't tell you how, but you can be sure he wouldn't escape. in the last hundred years there's been no unsolved murder."

he coughed and turned away from the screen. when he turned back, his face was calm. "i'm not supposed to tell you this much. i'm breaking the rule because your case and that of the girl is different from any i've ever handled." he was speaking carefully. "listen. i'll tell you once and won't repeat it. if you ever accuse me, i'll deny i said it, and i have the entire police organization behind me to make it stick."

the counselor closed his eyes as if to see in his mind the principle he was formulating. "if we can catch a murderer, no matter how clever he may be, it ought to be easier to trace the identity of a person who is still alive. it is. but we never try. though it's all right if the victim does.

"if i should ask the cooperation of other police departments, they wouldn't help. if the solution lies within an area over which i have jurisdiction and i find out who is responsible, i will be dismissed before i can prosecute the man."

luis stared at the counselor in helpless amazement. "then you're not doing anything," he said shakily. "you lied to me. you don't intend to do anything."

"you're overwrought," said borgenese politely. "if you could see how busy we are in your behalf—" he sighed. "my advice is that if you can't convince the girl, forget her. if the situation gets emotionally unbearable, let me know and i can arrange transportation to another city where there may be others who are—uh—more compatible."

"but she's my wife," he said stubbornly.

"are you sure?"

actually luis wasn't—but he wanted her to be, or any variation thereof she would consent to. he explained.

"as she says, there are a lot of factors," commented the counselor. "i'd suggest an examination. it may remove some of her objections."

he hadn't thought of it, but he accepted it eagerly. "what will that do?"

"not much, unfortunately. it will prove that you two can have healthy normal children, but it won't indicate that you're not a member of her genetic family. and, of course, it won't touch on the question of legal family, brother-in-law and the like. i don't suppose she'd accept that."

she wouldn't. he'd seen her for only a brief time and yet he knew that much. he was in an ambiguous position; he could make snap decisions he was certain were right, but he had to guess at facts. he and the girl were victims, and the police refused to help them in the only way that would do much good. and the police had, or thought they had, official reasons for their stand.

luis told the counselor just exactly what he thought of that.

"it's too bad," agreed the counselor. "these things often have an extraordinary degree of permanency if they ever get started."

if they ever got started! luis reached out and turned off the screen. it flickered unsteadily—the counselor was trying to call him back. he didn't want to talk to the man; it was painful, and borgenese had nothing to add but platitudes, and fuel to his anger. he swung open the panel and jerked the wiring loose and the screen went blank.

there was an object concealed in the mechanism he had exposed. it was a neat, vicious, little retrogression gun.