"Not very good."

Franklin started. "Why? Why not?"

Cutter pushed the cruiser door back and leaped out onto the ground. "Come on." He helped Franklin out and slammed the door after him. "Waldo is guarded. He's got a wall of robots around him. That's why we've never tried before. If it weren't crucial we wouldn't be trying now."

They left the pasture, making their way down the hill along a narrow weed-covered path. "What are they doing it for?" Franklin asked. "The teeps. Why do they want to get power?"

"Human nature, I suppose."

"Human nature?"

"The teeps are no different from the Jacobins, the Roundheads, the Nazis, the Bolsheviks. There's always some group that wants to lead mankind – for its own good, of course."

"Do the teeps believe that?"

"Most teeps believe they're the natural leaders of mankind. Non-telepathic humans are an inferior species. Teeps are the next step, homo superior. And because they're superior, it's natural they should lead. Make all the decisions for us."

"And you don't agree," Franklin said.

"The teeps are different from us – but that doesn't mean they're superior. A telepathic faculty doesn't imply general superiority. The teeps aren't a superior race. They're human beings with a special ability. But that doesn't give them a right to tell us what to do. It's not a new problem."

"Who should lead mankind, then?" Franklin asked. "Who should be the leaders?"

"Nobody should lead mankind. It should lead itself." Cutter leaned forward suddenly, body tense.

"We're almost there. Waldo's estate is directly ahead. Get ready. Everything depends on the next few minutes."

"A few robot guards." Cutter lowered his binoculars. "But that's not what's worrying me. If Waldo has a teep nearby, he'll detect our hoods."

"And we can't take them off."

"No. The whole thing would be out, passed from teep to teep." Cutter moved cautiously forwards. "The robots will stop us and demand identification. We'll have to count on your Director's clip."

They left the bushes, crossing the open field toward the buildings that made up Senator Waldo's estate. They came onto a dirt road and followed it, neither of them speaking, watching the landscape ahead.

"Halt!" A robot guard appeared, streaking toward them across the field. "Identify yourselves!"

Franklin showed his clip. "I'm Director level. We're here to see the Senator. I'm an old friend."

Automatic relays clicked as the robot studied the identification clip. "From the Director level?"

"That's right," Franklin said, becoming uneasy.

"Get out of the way," Cutter said impatiently. "We don't have any time to waste."

The robot withdrew uncertainly. "Sorry to have stopped you, sir. The Senator is inside the main building. Directly ahead."

"All right." Cutter and Franklin advanced past the robot. Sweat stood out on Cutter's round face. "We made it," he murmured. "Now let's hope there aren't any teeps inside."

Franklin reached the porch. He stepped slowly up, Cutter behind him. At the door he halted, glancing at the smaller man. "Shall I -"

"Go ahead." Cutter was tense. "Let's get right inside. It's safer."

Franklin raised his hand. The door clicked sharply as its lens photographed him and checked his image. Franklin prayed silently. If the Clearance alarm had been sent out this far -

The door melted.

"Inside," Cutter said quickly.

Franklin entered, looking around in the semi-darkness. He blinked, adjusting to the dim light of the hall. Somebody was coming toward him. A shape, a small shape, coming rapidly, lithely. Was it Waldo?

A lank, sallow-faced youth entered the hall, a fixed smile on his face. "Good morning, Doctor Franklin," he said. He raised his Slem-gun and fired.

Cutter and Ernest Abbud stared down at the oozing mass that had been Doctor Franklin. Neither of them spoke. Finally Cutter raised his hand, his face drained of color.

"Was that necessary?"

Abbud shifted, suddenly conscious of him. "Why not?" He shrugged, the Slem-gun pointed at Cutter's stomach. "He was an old man. He wouldn't have lasted long in the protective-custody camp."

Cutter took out his package of cigarettes and lit up slowly, his eyes on the youth's face. He had never seen Ernest Abbud before. But he knew who he was. He watched the sallow-faced youth kick idly at the remains on the floor.

"Then Waldo is a teep," Cutter said.

"Yes."

"Franklin was wrong. He does have full understanding of his bill."

"Of course! The Anti-Immunity Bill is an integral part of our activity." Abbud waved the snout of the Slem-gun. "Remove your hood. I can't scan you – and it makes me uneasy."

Cutter hesitated. He dropped his cigarette thoughtfully to the floor and crushed it underfoot. "What are you doing here? You usually hang out in New York. This is a long way out here."

Abbud smiled. "We picked up Doctor Franklin's thoughts as he entered the girl's car – before she gave him the hood. She waited too long. We got a distinct visual image of her, seen from the back seat, of course. But she turned around to give him the hood. Two hours ago Clearance picked her up. She knew a great deal – our first real contact. We were able to locate the factory and round up most of the workers."

"Oh?" Cutter murmured.

"They're in protective custody. Their hoods are gone – and the supply stored for distribution. The stampers have been dismantled. As far as I know we have all the group. You're the last one."

"Then does it matter if I keep my hood?"

Abbud's eyes flickered. "Take it off. I want to scan you – Mister Hood Maker."

Cutter grunted. "What do you mean?"

"Several of your men gave us images of you – and details of your trip here. I came out personally, notifying Waldo through our relay system in advance. I wanted to be here myself."

"Why?"

"It's an occasion. A great occasion."

"What position do you hold?" Cutter demanded.

Abbud's sallow face turned ugly. "Come on! Off with the hood! I could blast you now. But I want to scan you first."

"All right. I'll take it off. You can scan me, if you want. Probe all the way down." Cutter paused, reflecting soberly. "It's your funeral."

"What do you mean?"

Cutter removed his hood, tossing it onto a table by the door. "Well? What do you see? What do I know – that none of the others knew?"

For a moment Abbud was silent.

Suddenly his face twitched, his mouth working. The Slem-gun swayed. Abbud staggered, a violent shudder leaping through his lank frame. He gaped at Cutter in rising horror.

"I learned it only recently," Cutter said. "In our lab. I didn't want to use it – but you forced me to take off my hood. I always considered the alloy my most important discovery – until this. In some ways, this is even more important. Don't you agree?"

Abbud said nothing. His face was a sickly gray. His lips moved but no sound came.

"I had a hunch – and I played it for all it was worth. I knew you telepaths were born from a single group, resulting from an accident – the Madagascar hydrogen explosion. That made me think. Most mutants, that we know of, are thrown off universally by the species that's reached the mutation stage. Not a single group in one area. The whole world, wherever the species exists.

"Damage to the germ plasma of a specific group of humans is the cause of your existence. You weren't a mutant in the sense that you represented a natural development of the evolutionary process. In no sense could it be said that homo sapiens had reached the mutation stage. So perhaps you weren't a mutant.

"I began to make studies, some biological, some merely statistical. Sociological research. We began correlating facts on you, on each member of your group we could locate. How old you were. What you were doing for a living. How many were married. Number of children. After a while I came across the facts you're scanning right now."