with the short hair. Career woman. Head of
the entire office staff of the Garrison. And the man beside her.
Janitor. And that cute little gal there, with the bosom. Secretary, just
out of school. All kinds. And I got a note this morning, three more
coming in sometime today."

Harris nodded. "The strange thing is--they really _want_ to sit down
there. They're completely rational; they could do something else, but
they just don't care to."

"Well?" Cox said. "What are you going to do? Have you found anything?
We're counting on you. Let's hear it."

"I couldn't get anything out of them directly," Harris said, "but I've
had some interesting results with the shock box. Let's go inside and
I'll show you."

"Fine," Cox turned and started toward the hospital. "Show me anything
you've got. This is serious. Now I know how Tiberius felt when
Christianity showed up in high places."

* * * * *

Harris snapped off the light. The room was pitch black. "I'll run this
first reel for you. The subject is one of the best biologists stationed
at the Garrison. Robert Bradshaw. He came in yesterday. I got a good run
from the shock box because Bradshaw's mind is so highly differentiated.
There's a lot of repressed material of a non-rational nature, more than
usual."

He pressed a switch. The projector whirred, and on the far wall a
three-dimensional image appeared in color, so real that it might have
been the man himself. Robert Bradshaw was a man of fifty, heavy-set,
with iron grey hair and a square jaw. He sat in the chair calmly, his
hands resting on the arms, oblivious to the electrodes attached to his
neck and wrist. "There I go," Harris said. "Watch."

His film-image appeared, approaching Bradshaw. "Now, Mr. Bradshaw," his
image said, "this won't hurt you at all, and it'll help us a lot." The
image rotated the controls on the shock box. Bradshaw stiffened, and his
jaw set, but otherwise he gave no sign. The image of Harris regarded him
for a time and then stepped away from the controls.

"Can you hear me, Mr. Bradshaw?" the image asked.

"Yes."

"What is your name?"

"Robert C. Bradshaw."

"What is your position?"

"Chief Biologist at the check-station on Y-3."

"Are you there now?"

"No, I'm back on Terra. In a hospital."

"Why?"

"Because I admitted to the Garrison Chief that I had become a plant."

"Is that true? That you are a plant."

"Yes, in a non-biological sense. I retai