"Yes," Wakeman was saying tightly, "that's the usual place for the murderers to collect."

The Challenge Convention.

Cartwright got unsteadily to his feet. "I want to talk to Moore. You two clear out of here."

The men conferred silently, then moved towards the door.

"Be careful," Wakeman warned him. "You've had a lot of emotional shocks today. Your thalamic index is too high."

Cartwright closed the door and turned to face Moore. "Now we can get this settled once and for all."

Moore smiled confidently. "Anything you say, Mr. Cartwright. You're the boss."

"I'm not your boss."

"No, that's so. A few of us stayed loyal to Reese."

"You must think a lot of him."

Moore's expression showed that he did.

"Reese Verrick is a big man, Mr. Cartwright. He's done a lot of big things."

"What do you want me to do? Give him back his position?" Cartwright heard his own voice waver with emotion. "I'm here and I'm staying here. You can't intimidate me! You can't laugh me out!"

Cartwright tried to keep his hands from shaking. He was excited; he could hardly speak. And he was afraid.

"You can't operate this," Moore said quietly. "This isn't your line. What are you? I examined the records. You were born on 5 October, 2140, outside the Imperial Hill. You've lived there all your life; this is the first time you've been on this side of Earth, let alone on another planet. You had ten years of nominal schooling in the charity department of the Imperial Hill. From high school onwards you took courses, in welding, and electronic repair and that sort of thing. After you left school you designed a few circuit improvements but the Directorate rejected your patents."

"The improvements," Cartwright said with difficulty, "were used a year later."