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Geneva, Barris considered his plans carefully.
    What they’ll say, he decided, is that I’m using this as a pretext to embarrass Jason Dill. That I’m not sincere; that in fact I’m using the silence of Vulcan 3 as a device to make a bid for Jason Dill’s job. My coming to Geneva will just go to prove how ruthlessly ambitious I am. And I won’t be able to disprove the charge; I have no way by which I can prove that my motives are pure.
    This time the chronic doubt did not assail him; he
knew
that he was acting for the good of the organization. I know my own mind this time, he realized. In this case I can trust myself.
    I’ll just have to stand firm, he told himself. If I keep denying that I’m trying to undercut Dill for personal advantage—
    But he knew better. All the denials in the world won’t help me, he thought, once they loose the gods. They can get a couple of those police psychologists up from Atlanta, and once those boys have gone over me I’ll
agree
with my accusers; I’ll be convinced that I’m cynically exploiting Dill’s problems and undermining the organization. They’ll even have me convinced that I’m a traitor and ought to be sentenced to forced labor on Luna.
    At the thought of the Atlanta psychologists, he felt cold perspiration stand out on his throat and forehead.
    Only once had he been up against them, and that was the third year of his employment with Unity. Some unbalanced clerk in his department—at that time he had managed a small rural branch of Unity—had been caught stealing Unity property and reselling it on the black market. Unity of course had a monopoly on advanced technological equipment, and certain items were excessively valuable. It was a constant temptation, and this particular clerk had been in charge of inventories; the temptation had been coupled with opportunity, and the two together had been too much. The secret police had caught up with the man almost at once, had arrested him and gained the usual confession. To get himself in good, or what he imagined to be in good, the man had implicated several others in the branch office, including William Barris. And so a warrant had been served on him, and he had been hauled down in the middle of the night for an “interview.”
    There was no particular onus connected with being served with a police warrant; virtually every citizen became involved with the police at one time or another in his life. The incident had not hurt Barris’ career; he had very quickly been released, and he had gone on at his job, and no one had brought the matter up when time came for his advancement to a high position. But for half an hour at police headquarters he had been worked over by two psychologists, and the memory was still with him to wake him up late at night—a bad dream but unfortunately one that might recur in reality at any time.
    If he were to step out of line even now, in his position as North American Director with supreme authority over the area north of the Mason-Dixon Line . . .
    And, as he was carried closer and closer to Unity Control at Geneva, he was decidedly sticking his neck out.
I should mind
my own business,
he told himself. That is a rule we all learn, if we expect to get up the ladder or even keep out of jail.
    But this
is
my business!
    Not much later a recorded voice said pleasantly, “We are about to land, Mr. Barris.”
    Geneva lay below. The ship was descending, pulled down by the automatic relays that had guided it from his field, across the Atlantic and over Western Europe.
    Barris thought, Probably they already know I’m on my way. Some flunky, some minor informant, has relayed the information. Undoubtedly some petty clerk in my own building is a spy for Unity Control.
    And now, as he rose from his chair and moved toward the exit, someone else was no doubt waiting at the Geneva terminal, watching to mark his arrival. I’ll be followed the entire time, he decided.
    At the exit he hesitated. I can turn