"And they'll put me away for two years."

"But you'll go down in science. That's what they'll call it, 'Schuhart's Jar.' Like the sound of it?"

While we were bulling, I dressed. I put the empty flask in my pocket, counted my money, and left.

"Good luck, you complicated soul."

He didn't answer. The water was making a lot of noise.

There was Tender in person in the corridor. Red and puffed up like a turkey. Surrounded by coworkers, reporters, and a couple of sergeants (fresh from eating and picking their teeth), he was babbling on and on. “The technology that we command,” he blathered, “almost completely guarantees success and safety.” Then he saw me and dried up a bit. He smiled and made little waving motions with his hand. Well, I'd better split, I thought. I made for the door, but they caught me. I heard footsteps behind me.

"Mr. Schuhart! Mr. Schuhart! A few words about the garage!"

"No comment.” I broke into a run. But there was no getting away. There was one with a mike on my right, and another with a camera on my left.

"Did you see anything strange in the garage. Just two words!"

"No comment!” I said, trying to keep the back of my head to the camera. “It's just a garage."

"Thank you. How do you feel about turboplatforms?"

"Most wonderful.” I started edging toward the John.

"What do you think about the Visitation?"

"Ask the scientists,” I said, and slid behind the bathroom door.

I could hear them scratching at the door. So I called out: “I heartily recommend that you ask Mr. Tender how his nose came to look like a beet. He's too modest to bring it up, but that was our most interesting adventure there."

They shot down the corridor. Faster than racehorses. I waited a minute. Silence. Stuck out my head. Nobody. And I went on my way, whistling a tune. I went down to the lobby, showed my pass to the bean-pole sergeant, and saw that he was saluting me. I guess I was the hero of the day.