Eleanor shot Wakeman a warning look. "Be careful."

Without taking his eyes from Benteley, Wakeman said slowly, "Remember what I'm telling you. You're out of fealty; take advantage of it. Don't swear yourself on to Verrick. You'll be stuck to him, as one of his permanent serfs. And you won't like it."

Benteley was chilled. "You mean I'm supposed to take an oath directly to Verrick? Not a positional oath to the Quizmaster?"

"That's right," Eleanor said.

"Why?"

"Things are a little uncertain right now. I can't give you any more information. Later on, there'll be an assignment for you in terms of your class requirements; that's guaranteed."

Benteley gripped his briefcase and moved aimlessly away. His strategy, his plan, had fallen apart. Nothing that he had run up against here corresponded to his expectations. "Then I'm in?" he demanded, half-angrily. "I'm acceptable?"

"Sure," Wakeman said listlessly. "Verrick wants all the 8-8's he can get. You can't miss."

Benteley retreated helplessly from the two of them. Something was wrong. "Wait," he said, confused and uncertain. "I have to think this out. Give me time to decide."

"Go right ahead," Eleanor said indifferently.

"Thanks." Benteley withdrew, to restudy the situation.

Eleanor wandered around the room, hands in her pockets. "Any more news on that fellow?" she asked Wakeman. "I'm waiting."

"Only the initial closed-circuit warning to me," Wakeman said. "His name is Leon Cartwright. He's a member of some kind of cult, a crackpot splinter organization. I'm curious to see what he's like."

"I'm not." Eleanor halted at the window and stood gazing moodily out at the streets and ramps below. "They'll be shrilling, soon. It won't be long now." She reached up jerkily and ran her thin fingers over her temples. "God, maybe I made a mistake. But it's over; there's nothing I can do."