Hawks clenched his fists at his sides. “Barker! What color was your first schoolbook?”

Barker’s arms loosened slightly. His head lost its rigid forward thrust. He shook his head and scowled down at the floor, concentrating fiercely.

“I — I don’t remember, Hawks,” he stammered. “Green — no, no, it was orange, with blue printing, and it had a story in it about three goldfish who climbed out of their bowl onto a bookcase and then dived back into it. I — I can see the page with the illustration: three fish in the air, falling in a slanted tier, with the bowl waiting for them. The text was set with three one-word paragraphs: ‘Splash!’, and then a paragraph indentation, and then ‘Splash!’ and then once more. Three Splashes in a tier, just like the fish.”

“Well, now, you see, Barker,” Hawks said softly. “You have been alive for as long as you can remember. You are something. You’ve seen, and remembered.”

Weston looked over his shoulder. “For Heaven’s sake, Hawks! Stay out of this!” Holiday studied Barker with a slight blinking of his eyes, the hypodermic withheld.

Hawks let out his breath slowly and said to Weston, “At least he knows he’s alive.”

Barker was slumped, now. Nearly doubled over, he swayed on the edge of the table, the color of his face gradually returning to normal. He whispered intently, “Thanks. Thanks, Hawks.” Bitterly, he whispered, “Thanks for everything.” He mumbled suddenly, his torso rigid, “Somebody get me a wastebasket, or something.” Gersten and Hawks stood beside the transmitter, watching Barker come unsteadily back from the washroom, dressed in his slacks and shirt.

“What do you think, Ed?” Gersten asked. “What’s he going to do now? Is he going to pull out on us?”

“I don’t know,” Hawks answered absently, watching Barker. “I thought he’d work out,” he said under his breath. “But has he?” He said to Gersten, “We’ll simply have to wait and see. We’ll have to think of a way to handle it.”

“Get another man?”

Hawks shook his head. “We can’t. We don’t even know enough about this one.” He said as though attacked by flies, “I have to have time to think. Why does time run on while a man thinks?”

Barker came up to them.

Barker’s eyes were sunken in their sockets. He looked piercingly at Hawks. His voice was jagged and nasal.

“Holiday says I’m generally all right, now, everything considered. But someone must drive me home.” His mouth curled. “D’you want the job, Hawks?”

“Yes, I do.” Hawks took off his smock and laid it folded atop the cabinet. “You might as well set up for another shot tomorrow, Ted,” he said to Gersten.

“Don’t count on me for it!” Barker sawed.

“We can always cancel, you ,know.” He said to Gersten, “I’ll call early tomorrow and let you know.”

Barker stumbled forward as Hawks fell into step beside him. They slowly crossed the laboratory floor and went out though the stairwell doors, side by side.

Connington was waiting for them in the upstairs hail, lounging in one of the bright orange plastic-upholstered armchairs that lined the foyer wall. His legs were stretched out in front of him, and one hand held a cigar in front of his face as he lit it and blew smoke out of his pursed lips in a translucent cone. His eyes flicked once over Barker, and once over Hawks. “Have some trouble?” he asked as they came abreast of him. “I hear you had some trouble down in the lab,” he repeated, his eyes glinting. “Rough time, Al?”

Hawks said, “If I find the man who’s piping you information from the laboratory, I’ll fire him.”

Connington reached toward the standing ash tray beside him. A ring on one finger clinked softly against the metal of the carrying handle. “You’re losing your edge, Hawks,” he said. “A couple of days ago, you wouldn’t have bothered threatening.” He pushed himself up to his feet, grunting softly as he said, “My doings would’ve been beneath you.” He rocked up on his toes and back down on his heels, his hands in his pockets. “What’s it matter, how many details I learn or don’t? You think I need to? I know you two. That’s enough.”

“God damn you, Connington—” Barker began with the high, tearing note in his voice.

Connington’s glance uppercut him lightly. “So I was right.” He grinned consciously. “Goin’ back to Claire, now?” He blew out smoke. “The two of you?”

“Something like that,” Hawks said.

Connington scratched the lapel of his jacket. “Think I’ll come along and watch.” He smiled fondly at Barker, his head to one side. “Why not, Al? You might as well have the company of all the people who’re trying to kill you.”

Hawks looked at Barker. The man’s hands fumbled as though dealing with something invisible in the air just in front of his stomach. He was staring right through Connington, and the personnel man squinted momentarily.

Then Barker said lamely, “There isn’t room in the car.”

Connington chuckled warmly and mellifluously. “I’ll drive, and you can sit on Hawks’ lap. Just like Charlie McCarthy.”

Hawks pulled his glance away from Barker’s face and said sharply, “I’ll drive.”

Connington chuckled again. “Sam Latourette didn’t get the job with Hughes Aircraft. Waxted’s wanting him didn’t thake any difference. He showed up helpless drunk for his hiring interview this morning. I’ll drive.” He turned toward the double plate-glass doors and began walking out. He looked back over his shoulder. “Come along, friends,” he said.

4

Claire Pack stood watching them from the head of the steps up to the lawn. She was wearing a one-piece skirtless cotton swimsuit cut high at the tops of her thighs, and was resting her hands lightly on her hips. As Connington shut off the engine and the three of them got out of the car, she, raised her eyebrows’. The narrow strings that served as straps for the swimsuit were dangling in loops around her upper arms.

“Well, Doctor!” She said with low-voiced gravity and a pucker of her lips, “I’d been wondering when you’d drop by again.”

Connington, coming around the other side of the car, smiled watchfully at her and said, “He had to bring Al home. Seems there was a little hitch in the proceedings today.”

She glanced aside at Barker, who was raising the garage doors with abrupt, crashing movements of his arms and body, all his attention obviously on what he was doing. She ran her tongue over the edges of her teeth. “What kind?”

“Now, I wouldn’t know as to that. Why don’t you ask Hawks?” Connington took a fresh cigar out of his case. “I like that suit, Claire,” he said. He trotted quickly up the steps, brushing by her. “It’s a hot day. Think I’ll go find a pair of trunks and take a dip myself. You and the boys have a nice chat meanwhile.” He walked quickly up the path to the house, stopped, lit the cigar, glanced sideward over his cupped hands, and stepped out of sight inside.

Barker got into his car, started it, and clashed the gears as he moved it into the garage nose-first. The trapped thunder of the exhaust rumbled loudly and sputtered down into silence.

“I think he’ll be all right,” Hawks said.

Claire looked down at him. She focused her expression into an open-faced innocence. “Oh? You mean, he’ll be back to normal?”

Barker brought the garage doors down and passed Hawks with his head bent, striding intently as he thrust the ignition keys into his pocket. His face jerked up toward Claire as he climbed the steps. “I’m going upstairs. I may sack out. Don’t wake me.” He half-turned and looked at Hawks. “I guess you’re stuck here, unless you want to take another hike. Did you think of that, Doctor?”

“Did you? I’ll stay until you’re up. I’ll want to talk to you.”

“I wish you joy of it, Doctor,” Barker said, and walked away, with Claire watching him. Then she looked back down at Hawks. Through all this, she had not moved her feet or hands.