"Not on your life," Black said decisively. "And, look, we _must_ get
two thousand more shares! Get them, Charlie!"

He clicked off again.

So Dan Redgrave had sold at a ridiculously low price! Had his
consciousness wandered in those dreams? Had he psionically persuaded
Redgrave to sell? That wouldn't be ethical. But do ethics apply to
_involuntary_ acts?

His mind was in turmoil. He dared not exercise his psi powers again
just now. He feared above all the wrath of Dodson and the other
service psis. If they came to suspect that he had persuaded
Redgrave--that he had, according to Ethics, misused his powers ... he
knew only too well that there are ways of banishing psi powers,
insulin shock and other treatments.

And for all his present aloneness he was beginning to realize his
latent powers--powers which, when fully developed, would doubtlessly
bring him into contact with others like himself, with someone who
could share the fierce ecstasy of probing with the consciousness to
the moon, or even farther, at the speed of light at which thought
moved. No, perhaps he need not always be alone....

He went out to lunch, returned, called his broker. Wythe told him
there was no activity in Lawrence. The afternoon wore. A few minutes
before the exchange closed the broker called.

"It's hopeless, Marty," said Wythe. "Let's sell. The price is still
two twenty-five and nothing for sale. How about it? Three hundred
thousand profit in one day."

It sounded attractive. Black hesitated, then thought of Lawrence,
good, old would-be humanitarian and philanthropist D. V. Lawrence
lying in coma. Lawrence, whose dreams were in his hands now. He had
come to like Lawrence, the trail-blazer where there were so few trails
to be blazed. He had to help him. If worse came to worse he would cast
Ethics to the winds. He'd have to! His conscience couldn't permit him
to do anything else. He would psionically persuade at least one of the
other stockholders to vote Lawrence's way.

Well, at least his mind was made up. Lawrence would have his options.
And with forty-nine percent of the stock between them they could
gamble on getting a favorable vote.

"What about it, Marty?" the broker asked impatiently.

"Sorry," Black said. "The answer is no, Charlie! I want that stock."

He rang off.

Moments later his consciousness was on its way to keep the rendezvous
with Joyce high in the evening sky over Oklahoma, up where the blue of
the atmosph