t's your next move then?" Rysland asked Pell.

"Tomorrow morning, first thing," Pell said, "I'll take a sample of this
stuff to Dr. Nebel and see what he can do with it. Of course the lab can
keep on working on it in the meantime."

"Don't you think you might do better to get busy on those computers?"
Larkin asked.

Pell shook his head. "This hunch is too strong, Chief."

Rysland smiled, and got up. "I'm inclined to put a little stock into
this man's hunches. He's done pretty well with them so far. I'd even say
he's pretty close to a solution of this thing--possibly."

Larkin shrugged and started to look at the crime charts again.

Rysland held out his hand. "Good night, Mr. Pell. You've encouraged me.
Larkin and I are going topside for a little night cap before we turn in.
Like to join us?"

"No, thanks," said Pell. "I'm sleepy. I want to get home and hit that
sack."

"Very well. Good night again." The two men went toward the door.

Pell watched them quietly. He had lied. He wasn't sleepy at all. He just
wanted to get home and sit by that viewer and hope, hope against hope,
that it would ring and that Ciel's lovely image would swirl into
view....

* * * * *

On the way home he was just the least bit tempted to go topside,
however. He thought he might like to walk the broad, quiet boulevards
under the stars. His brain functioned better there. The tunnels were so
clean and bright and sterile, so wonderfully functional and sensible,
that they oppressed him somehow. Maybe, he sometimes thought, he wasn't
fit for this age. Maybe he should have been born a couple of hundred
years ago. But common sense told him that people in _that_ age must have
often thought exactly the same thing to themselves.

He looked at his chrono and decided he had better go home.

The apartment, when he came to it, was cold and empty without Ciel. He
bathed and tried to keep up his spirits by singing in his tuneless way,
but it didn't help.

He went back into the living room, selected a film from the library and
slipped it into a lap projector. He sat down and tried to concentrate on
the film, a historical adventure about the days of the first moon
rockets. He couldn't follow it.

The viewer rang.

He bounded from the chair as though he had triggered a high speed
ejection seat in a burning jet. He went to the viewer and flicked it on.
The plate shimmered, and then Ciel's image came into focus.

"_