"About the same," Wakeman said presently. "You've got everything tied up in your ship. If it goes down that's the end of you."

"It won't go down," Cartwright said.

"After you've talked to Moore," Wakeman said, "it'll be interesting to see if you still predict success."

Herb Moore rose as Cartwright and Wakeman entered the lounge.

"What do you want?" Cartwright demanded.

"Let's put it this way. You're in. Verrick is out. You hold the supreme position in the system. Right?"

Moore began pacing about, cheeks flushed with excite­ment, gesturing vividly, highly animated by the flow of words beginning to pour out of his mouth.

"Reese Verrick was Quizmaster for ten years. He was Challenged daily and he met every Challenge. Essentially, Verrick is a skilled leader. He operated this job with more knowledge and ability than all the Quizmasters before him put together."

"Except McRae," Shaeffer pointed out, as he entered the lounge.

Cartwright felt sick. He threw himself into one of the chairs and lay wearily back as it adjusted itself to his posture. The argument continued without him; the words that flowed between the Corpsmen and Verrick's bright young man were remote, dreamlike.

In many ways Herb Moore was right. He had blundered into somebody else's office, position and problems. He wondered vaguely where the ship was. Unless something had gone wrong it would soon be heading out towards Mars and the asteroid belt.

Who wanted him dead?

Moore's sharp voice brought him back. He sat up and opened his eyes.

"All right!" Moore was saying excitedly. "The word's gone out on the ipvic. The Convention will probably be held at the Westinghouse Hill; there's more hotel space there."