?" Erika demanded.

"Of course not," Martin said, angrily. "I've suspected for some time
that all my incoming calls have to be cleared by St. Cyr. Somebody might
try to smuggle in a word of hope, or possibly a file." His voice
brightened. "Planning a jailbreak?"

"Oh, this is outrageous," Erika said. "Some day St. Cyr's going to go
too far--"

"Not while he's got DeeDee behind him," Martin said gloomily. Summit
Studios would sooner have made a film promoting atheism than offend
their top box-office star, DeeDee Fleming. Even Tolliver Watt, who owned
Summit lock, stock and barrel, spent wakeful nights because St. Cyr
refused to let the lovely DeeDee sign a long-term contract.

"Nevertheless, Watt's no fool," Erika said. "I still think we could get
him to give you a contract release if we could make him realize what a
rotten investment you are. There isn't much time, though."

"Why not?"

"I told you--oh. Of course you don't know. He's leaving for Paris
tomorrow morning."

Martin moaned. "Then I'm doomed," he said. "They'll pick up my option
automatically next week and I'll never draw a free breath again. Erika,
do something!"

"I'm going to," Erika said. "That's exactly what I want to see you
about. Ah," she added suddenly, "now I understand why St. Cyr stopped my
message. He was afraid. Nick, do you know what we've got to do?"

"See Watt?" Nick hazarded unhappily. "But Erika--"

"See Watt _alone_," Erika amplified.

"Not if St. Cyr can help it," Nick reminded her.

"Exactly. Naturally St. Cyr doesn't want us to talk to Watt privately.
We might make him see reason. But this time, Nick, we've simply got to
manage it somehow. One of us is going to talk to Watt while the other
keeps St. Cyr at bay. Which do you choose?"

"Neither," Martin said promptly.

"Oh, Nick! I can't do the whole thing alone. Anybody'd think you were
afraid of St. Cyr."

"I _am_ afraid of St. Cyr," Martin said.

"Nonsense. What could he actually do to you?"

"He could terrorize me. He does it all the time. Erika, he says I'm
indoctrinating beautifully. Doesn't it make your blood run cold? Look at
all the other writers he's indoctrinated."

"I know. I saw one of them on Main Street last week, delving into
garbage cans. Do you want to end up that way? Then stand up for your
rights!"

"Ah," said the robot wisely, nodding. "Just as I thought. A
crisis-point."

"Shut up," Martin said. "No, not you, Erika. I'm sorry."

"So am I,