r faces, and told us to go to hell, and
took the next jet back to Nevada. All in one afternoon."

The vibration of the jet engines hung just at perception level,
nagging and nagging at Dan Fowler, until he threw his papers aside
with a snarl of disgust, and peered angrily out the window.

They were high, and moving fast. Far below was a tiny spot of light in
the blackness. Pittsburgh. Maybe Cleveland. It didn't matter which.
Jets traveled at such-and-such a rate of speed; they left at
such-and-such a time and arrived elsewhere at such-and-such a time
later. He could worry, or he could not-worry. The jet would bring him
down in Las Vegas in exactly the same time, to the second, either way.
Another half-hour taxi ride over dusty desert roads would bring him to
the glorified quonset hut his brother called home. Nothing Dan Fowler
could do would hurry the process of getting there.

Dan had called, and received no answer.

He had talked to the Las Vegas authorities, and even gotten Lijinsky
at the Starship, and neither of them knew anything. The police said
yes, they would check at Dr. Fowler's residence, if he wasn't out at
the Ship, and check back. But they hadn't checked back, and that was
two hours ago. Meanwhile, Carl had chartered him a plane.

God damn Paul to three kinds of hell. Of all miserable times to start
playing games, acting like an imbecile child! And the work and sweat
Dan had gone through to get that permit, to buy it beg it, steal it,
gold-plate it. Of course the odds were good that Paul would have
gotten it without a whisper from Dan--he was high on the list, he was
critical to Starship, and certainly Starship was critical enough to
rate. But Dan had gone out on a limb, way out--The Senator's fist
clenched, and he drummed it helplessly on the empty seat, and felt a
twinge of pain spread up his chest, down his arm. He cursed, fumbled
for the bottle in his vest pocket. God damned heart and god damned
brother and god damned Rinehart--did _everything_ have to split the
wrong way? Now? Of all times of all days of all his fifty-six years of
life, _now_?

_All right, Dan. Cool, boy. Relax. Shame on you. Can't you quit being
selfish just for a little while?_ Dan didn't like the idea as it
flickered through his mind, but then he didn't like anything too much
right then, so he forced the thought back for a rerun.

Big Dan Fowler, _Senator_ Dan Fowler, Selfish Dan Fowler loves Dan
Fowler mostly.

_Poor Pa