i said: "you'll have to give me a little time to think it over. it's rather—startling."

"by all means," he said, escorting me to the door, "do think it over. although"—he hesitated with his hand on the knob—"i shouldn't agree with your choice of the word 'startling.' after all, it's only what we expected all along. the universe must come to an end one way or another."

think? boys, the massive brain practically fumed as i went back downstairs. i went out into the press room and i wondered what there was about a picture of a black cloud that could have upset the stabilizer. i drifted out of the prog building and decided i'd better go down to the controller's office for another bluff, so i didn't drift any more. there was a pneumatic pick-up at the corner. i caught a capsule and clicked off the address on the dial. in three and a half minutes i was there.

as i turned the overhead dome back and started to step out of my capsule, i found myself surrounded by the rest of the newspaper crowd.

the ledger said: "where you been, my friendly, we needed your quick brain but bad."

i said: "i'm still looking for hogan. i can't cover a thing until i've seen him. what's this need for brains?"

"not just any brains. your brain."

i got out of the capsule and showed my empty pocket.

the ledger said: "we're not soaping you for a loan—we needed interpolation."

"aha?"

the record said: "the dope means interpretation. we got one of those official releases again. all words and no sense."

"i mean interpolation," the ledger said. "we got to have some one read implications into this barren chaff."

i said: "brothers, you want exaggeration and i'm not going to be it this time. too risky."

so i trotted up the ramp to the main floor and went to the deputy vice's office and then i thought: "i've got a big thing here, why bother with the small fry?" i did a turnabout and went straight to the controller's suite. i knew it would be tough to get in because the controller has live secretaries—no voders. he also happens to have four receptionists. beautiful, but tough.

the first never saw me. i breezed right by and was in the second anteroom before she could say: "what is it, pa-lee-azz?" the second was warned by the bang of the door and grabbed hold of my arm as i tried to go through. i got past anyway, with two of them holding on, but number three added her lovely heft and i bogged down. by this time i was within earshot of the controller so i screamed: "down with stability!"

sure i did. i also shouted: "stability is all wrong! i'm for chaos. hurray for chaos!" and a lot more like that. the receptionists were shocked to death and one of them put in a call for emergency and a couple of guys hanging around were all for boffing me. i kept on downing with stability and fighting toward the sanctum sanctorum et cetera and having a wonderful time because the three girls hanging on to me were strictly class and i happily suffocated on exuberant no. 5. finally the controller came out to see what made.

they let go of me and the controller said: "what's the meaning of this?... oh, it's you."

i said: "excuse it, please."

"is this your idea of a joke, carmichael?"

"no, sir, but it was the only quick way to get to you."

"sorry, carmichael, but it's a little too quick."

i said: "wait a minute, sir."

"sorry, i'm extremely busy." he looked worried and impatient all at once.

i said: "you've got to give me a moment in private."

"impossible. see my secretary." he turned toward his office.

"please, sir—"

he waved his hand and started through the door. i took a jump and caught him by the elbow. he was sputtering furiously when i swung him around, but i got my arms around him and gave him a hug. when my mouth was against his ear i whispered: "i've been upstairs in the prog building. i know!"

he stared at me and his jaw dropped. after a couple of vague gestures with his hands he motioned me in with a jerk of his head. i marched straight into the controller's office and almost fell down dead. the stabilizer was there. yeah, old jehovah groating himself, standing before the window. all he needed was the stone tablets in his arms—or is it thunderbolts?

i felt very, very sober, my friends, and not very smart any more because the stabilizer is a sobering sight no matter how you kid about him. i nodded politely and waited for the controller to shut the door. i was wishing i could be on the other side of the door. also i was wishing i'd never gone upstairs into the prog building.

the controller said: "this is john carmichael, mr. groating, a reporter for the times."

we both said: "how-d'you-do?" only groating said it out loud. i just moved my lips.

the controller said: "now, carmichael, what's this about the prog building?"

"i went upstairs, sir."

he said: "you'll have to speak a little louder."

i cleared my throat and said: "i went upstairs, sir."

"you what!"

"w-went upstairs."

this time lightning really did flash from the c-s's eyes.

i said: "if i've made trouble for anyone, i'm sorry. i've been wanting to get up there for years and ... and when i got the chance today, i couldn't resist it—" then i told them how i sneaked up and what i did.

the controller made a terrible fuss about the whole affair, and i knew—don't ask me how, i simply knew—that something drastic was going to be done about it unless i talked plenty fast. by this time, though, the clues in my head were beginning to fall into place. i turned directly to the c-s and i said: "sir, prog stands for prognostication, doesn't it?"

there was silence. finally groating nodded slowly.

i said: "you've got some kind of fortuneteller up there. you go up every afternoon and get your fortune told. then you come out and tell the press about it as though you all thought it up by yourselves. right?"

the controller sputtered, but groating nodded again.

i said: "this afternoon the end of the universe was prognosticated."

another silence. at last groating sighed wearily. he shut the controller up with a wave of his hand and said: "it seems mr. carmichael does know enough to make things awkward all around."

the controller burst out: "it's no fault of mine. i always insisted on a thorough guard system. if we had guarded the—"

"guards," groating interrupted, "would only have upset existing stability. they would have drawn attention and suspicion. we were forced to take the chance of a slip-up. now that it's happened we must make the best of it."

i said: "excuse me, sir. i wouldn't have come here just to boast. i could have kept quiet about it. what bothers me is what bothered you?"

groating stared at me for a moment, then turned away and began to pace up and down the room. there was no anger in his attitude; if there had been, i wouldn't have been as scared as i was. it was a big room and he did a lot of pacing and i could see he was coldly analyzing the situation and deciding what was to be done with me. that frigid appraisal had me trembling.

i said: "i'll give you my word not to mention this again—if that'll do the trick."

he paid no attention—merely paced. my mind raced crazily through all the nasty things that could happen to me. like solitary for life. like one-way exploration. like an obliterated memory track which meant i would have lost my twenty-eight years, not that they were worth much to anyone but me.

i got panicky and yelled: "you can't do anything to me. remember stability—" i began to quote the credo as fast as i could remember: "the status quo must be maintained at all costs. every member of society is an integral and essential factor of the status quo. a blow at the stability of any individual is a blow aimed at the stability of society. stability that is maintained at the cost of so much as a single individual is tantamount to chaos—"

"thank you, mr. carmichael," the c-s interrupted. "i have already learned the credo."

he went to the controller's desk and punched the teletype keys rapidly. after a few minutes of horrible waiting the answer came clicking back. groating read the message, nodded and beckoned to me. i stepped up to him and, boys, i don't know how the legs kept from puddling on the floor.

groating said: "mr. carmichael, it is my pleasure to appoint you confidential reporter to the stability board for the duration of this crisis."

i said: "awk!"

groating said: "we've maintained stability, you see, and insured your silence. society cannot endure change—but it can endure and welcome harmless additions. a new post has been created and you're it."

i said: "th-thanks."

"naturally, there will be an advance in credit for you. that is the price we pay, and gladly. you will attach yourself to me. all reports will be confidential. should you break confidence, society will exact the usual penalty for official corruption. shall i quote the credo on that point?"

i said: "no, sir!" because i knew that one by heart. the usual penalty isn't pleasant. groating had me beautifully hog-tied. i said: "what about the times, sir?"

"why," groating said, "you will continue your usual duties whenever possible. you will submit the official releases as though you had no idea at all of what was really taking place. i'm sure i can spare you long enough each day to make an appearance at your office."

suddenly he smiled at me and in that moment i felt better. i realized that he was far from being a jehovian menace—in fact that he'd done all he could to help me out of the nasty spot my curiosity had got me into. i grinned back and on impulse shoved out my hand. he took it and gave it a shake. everything was fine.

the c-s said: "now that you're a fellow-official, mr. carmichael, i'll come to the point directly. the prog building, as you've guessed, is a prognostication center. with the aid of a complete data system and a rather complex series of integraphs we have been able to ... to tell our fortunes, as you put it."

i said: "i was just shooting in the dark, sir. i really don't believe it."

groating smiled. he said: "nevertheless it exists. prophecy is far from being a mystical function. it is a very logical science based on experimental factors. the prophecy of an eclipse to the exact second of time and precise degree of longitude strikes the layman with awe. the scientist knows it is the result of precise mathematical work with precise data."

"sure," i began, "but—"

groating held up his hand. "the future of the world line," he said, "is essentially the same problem magnified only by the difficulty of obtaining accurate data—and enough data. for example: assuming an apple orchard, what are the chances of apples being stolen?"

i said: "i couldn't say. depends, i suppose, on whether there are any kids living in the neighborhood."

"all right," groating said, "that's additional data. assuming the orchard and the small boys, what are the chances of stolen apples?"

"pretty good."

"add data. a locust plague is reported on the way."

"not so good."

"more data. agriculture reports a new efficient locust spray."

"better."

"and still more data. in the past years the boys have stolen apples and been soundly punished. now what are the chances?"

"maybe a little less."

"continue the experimental factors with an analysis of the boys. they are headstrong and will ignore punishment. add also the weather forecasts for the summer; add the location of the orchard and attitude of owner. now sum up: orchard plus boys plus thefts plus punishment plus character plus locusts plus spray plus—"

i said: "good heavens!"

"you're overwhelmed by the detail work," groating smiled, "but not by the lack of logic. it is possible to obtain all possible data on the orchard in question and integrate the factors into an accurate prophecy not only as to the theft, but as to the time and place of theft. apply this example to our own universe and you can understand the working of the prognosis building. we have eight floors of data analyzers. the sifted factors are fed into the integrators and—presto, prophecy!"

i said: "presto, my poor head!"

"you'll get used to it in time."

i said: "the pictures?"

groating said: "the solution of a mathematical problem can take any one of a number of forms. for prognosis we have naturally selected a picturization of the events themselves. any major step in government that is contemplated is prepared in data form and fed into the integrator. the effect of that step on the world line is observed. if it is beneficial, we take that step; if not, we abandon it and search for another—"

i said: "and the pictures i saw this afternoon?"

groating sobered. he said: "up until today, mr. carmichael, we have not been able to integrate closer to the present than a week in the future—or deeper into the future than a few hundred years. wiggon's new data technique has enabled us to push to the end of our existence, and it is perilously close. you saw the obliteration of our universe take place less than a thousand years from now. this is something we must prevent at once."

"why all the excitement? surely something will happen during the next ten centuries to avoid it."

"what will happen?" groating shook his head. "i don't think you understand our problem. on the one hand you have the theory of our society. stability. you yourself have quoted the credo. a society which must maintain its stability at the price of instability is chaos. keep that in mind. on the other hand we cannot wait while our existence progresses rapidly toward extinction. the closer it draws to that point, the more violent the change will have to be to alter it.

"think of the progress of a snowball that starts at the top of a mountain and rolls down the slopes, growing in bulk until it smashes an entire house at the bottom. the mere push of a finger is sufficient to alter its future when it starts—a push of a finger will save a house. but if you wait until the snowball gathers momentum you will need violent efforts to throw the tons of snow off the course."

i said: "those pictures i saw were the snowball hitting our house. you want to start pushing the finger now—"