lessing and dorffman rode back to the hoffman center in grim silence. at first lessing pretended to work; finally he snapped off the tape recorder in disgust and stared out the shuttle-car window. melrose had gone on to idlewild to catch a jet back to chicago. it was a relief to see him go, lessing thought, and tried to force the thin, angry man firmly out of his mind. but somehow melrose wouldn't force.

"stop worrying about it," dorffman urged. "he's a crackpot. he's crawled way out on a limb, and now he's afraid your theory is going to cut it off under him. well, that's his worry, not yours." dorffman's face was intense. "scientifically, you're on unshakeable ground. every great researcher has people like melrose sniping at him. you just have to throw them off and keep going."

lessing shook his head. "maybe. but this field of work is different from any other, jack. it doesn't follow the rules. maybe scientific grounds aren't right at all, in this case."

dorffman snorted. "surely there's nothing wrong with theorizing—"

"he wasn't objecting to the theory. he's afraid of what happens after the theory."

"so it seems. but why?"

"have you ever considered what makes a man an authority?"

"he knows more about his field than anybody else does."

"he seems to, you mean. and therefore, anything he says about it carries more weight than what anybody else says. other workers follow his lead. he developes ideas, formulates theories—and then defends them for all he's worth."

"but why shouldn't he?"

"because a man can't fight for his life and reputation and still keep his objectivity," said lessing. "and what if he just happens to be wrong? once he's an authority the question of what's right and what's wrong gets lost in the shuffle. it's what he says that counts."

"but we know you're right," dorffman protested.

"do we?"

"of course we do! look at our work! look at what we've seen on the farm."

"yes, i know." lessing's voice was weary. "but first i think we'd better look at tommy gilman, and the quicker we look, the better—"

a nurse greeted them as they stepped off the elevator. "we called you at the farm, but you'd already left. the boy—" she broke off helplessly. "he's sick, doctor. he's sicker than we ever imagined."

"what happened?"

"nothing exactly—happened. i don't quite know how to describe it." she hurried them down the corridor and opened a door into a large children's playroom. "see what you think."

the boy sat stolidly in the corner of the room. he looked up as they came in, but there was no flicker of recognition or pleasure on his pale face. the monitor helmet was still on his head. he just sat there, gripping a toy fire engine tightly in his hands.

lessing crossed the room swiftly. "tommy," he said.

the boy didn't even look at him. he stared stupidly at the fire engine.

"tommy!" lessing reached out for the toy. the boy drew back in terror, clutching it to his chest. "go away," he choked. "go away, go away—" when lessing persisted the boy bent over swiftly and bit him hard on the hand.

lessing sat down on the table. "tommy, listen to me." his voice was gentle. "i won't try to take it again. i promise."

"go away."

"do you know who i am?"

tommy's eyes shifted haltingly to lessing's face. he nodded. "go away."

"why are you afraid, tommy?"

"i hurt. my head hurts. i hurt all over. go away."

"why do you hurt?"

"i—can't get it—off," the boy said.

the monitor, lessing thought suddenly. something had suddenly gone horribly wrong—could the boy really be sensing the source of the trouble? lessing felt a cold knot gather in the pit of his stomach. he knew what happened when adult psi-contact struck a psi-high youngster's mind. he had seen it a hundred times at the farm. but even more—he had felt it in his own mind, bursting from the child. like a violent physical blow, the hate and fear and suspicion and cruelty buried and repressed in the adult mind, crushing suddenly into the raw receptors of the child's mind like a smothering fog—it was a fearful thing. a healthy youngster could survive it, even though the scar remained. but this youngster was sick—

and yet an animal instinctively seeks its own protection. with trembling fingers lessing reached out and opened the baffle-snap on the monitor. "take it off, tommy," he whispered.

the boy blinked in amazement, and pulled the grey helmet from his head. lessing felt the familiar prickly feeling run down his scalp as the boy stared at him. he could feel deep in his own mind the cold chill of terror radiating from the boy. then, suddenly, it began to fade. a sense of warmth—peace and security and comfort—swept in as the fear faded from the boy's face.

the fire engine clattered to the floor.