"When I go into the bathroom in the morning don't I find the darn stuff growing all over the place?"
"It also grows over the Great Lakes," Al said scientifically.
"Well, this isn't protine," Laura said to Ted. "This is real roast beef, real potatoes and green peas and white rolls."
"You two are living better than when I last saw you," Benteley commented. "What happened?"
"Al jumped a whole class. He beat the Government Quiz; we studied together every night."
"I never heard of anybody beating the Quizzes. Was it mentioned on television?"
Laura frowned resentfully.
"That awful Sam Oster talked about it the whole length of a programme. He's that rabble-rouser who has such a big following."
"Afraid I don't know him," Benteley admitted.
"The Convention," Davis said, indicating the television screen, "are advertising for applicants. Giving quite a bonus."
A vortex of foaming light and colour lapping across the screen symbolized the Challenge Convention. The billowing mass broke apart, then reformed in new combinations.
"What's it saying?" Benteley asked.
"I can switch to the literal-channel, if you like."
Laura hurried in with silver and china for the table. "Don't put the literal-channel on; all the dullards watch that. This for us, the literal for them."
"You're wrong, honey," Al said seriously. "The literal-channel is for news and factual information. The symbolic channel is for pleasure. I enjoy watching it this way, but——" He waved his hand and the circuit switched abruptly. The vivid swirls of colour and sound winked out. In their place the placid features of a news announcer appeared. "Here's the same thing."
Laura returned to the kitchen in a flurry of activity. The living-room was friendly and comfortable. One wall was transparent; below the house stretched the city of Berlin clustered round the A.G. Chemie Hill, a towering cone, black against the night sky. Bits of light drifted in the gloom—surface cars dancing like sparks in the shadows.
"How long have you been in fealty to Verrick?" Benteley asked Al Davis.
"About three or four years."
"You're satisfied?"
"Why not?" Al indicated the pleasant, well-furnished living-room. "Who wouldn't be?"
"You knew I'd sworn loyalty to him?"
Davis's kindly face beamed up at Benteley. "I hope that means you'll be moving over here."
"Why?"
Davis blinked. "Well, because then we'll see more of you and Julie."
"I haven't been living with Julie for six months," Benteley said impatiently. "That's all off. She's on Jupiter as a work-camp official."
"I didn't know. I haven't seen you for two years."
"I came over with Verrick and his staff." Benteley's voice hardened. "When Oiseau-Lyre released me I headed for Batavia. I wanted to get out of the Hill system once and for all. I went straight to Reese Verrick."
"You did the right thing."
"Verrick tricked me! He was out of the Directorate completely. I knew somebody was bidding for the Hills. I wanted nothing to do with it—and now look!" Benteley's resentment increased. "Instead of getting away from it I'm where it's dirtiest."
Indignation crept into Davis's tolerant face. "Some of the nicest people I know are Verrick's serfs."
"People who don't care how they make money."
"You want to penalize Verrick because he's a success? He's made this Hill; is it his fault nobody else can operate like he can? There's a natural selection and evolution. Those who can't survive fall by the way."
"Verrick fired our research labs."
"Our? You're with Verrick, now!" Davis's indignation boiled over. "Verrick is your protector and you're standing here——"
"All right, boys," Laura exclaimed, back from her kitchen. "Dinner's on the table."
Benteley pulled up a couple of chairs and sat down moodily.
"Don't look so sad," Laura said to him. "See what you're getting to eat. Aren't you living with Julie any more? I'll bet you eat at restaurants where they serve that awful protine stuff."
Benteley said presently: "When I saw you last you were living in a Hill dormitory. But you weren't married then."
"Remember when you and I were living together?" Laura asked. "That wasn't more than a month."
"A little under a month," Benteley agreed. He relaxed somewhat, thawed by the smell of hot food, the bright living-room, the pretty woman sitting opposite him. "That's when you were still under fealty to Oiseau-Lyre, before you lost your classification."
Benteley listened to the television between conversations, his mind on only half of what Laura and Al were saying.
"... Quizmaster Cartwright has announced the dismissal of two hundred Directorate employees," the announcer was saying. "The reason given is b.s.r."
"Bad security risk," Laura murmured. "That's what they always say."
"... Convention plans are booming. Applications are flooding the Convention Board and the Westinghouse Hill office. Reese Verrick, the former Quizmaster, has agreed to handle the technical details that will set in motion the most spectacular event of the decade."
"Is old Judge Waring still on the Board?" Laura asked Al. "He must be a hundred years old."
"He won't resign, not until he's dead."
"But he knows everything about the Challenge," Laura said.
The television had changed announcers. A view of the massive auditorium in which the Convention was being held swam into focus. Seats were already up, and the huge platform at which the Board sat in judgment. People milled back and forth; the auditorium boomed and echoed with sounds of furious activity.
"... Reese Verrick's offer of a million dollars has galvanized the Convention proceedings. Statisticians estimate a record number of applications. Everybody is eager to try his hand at the most daring role in the system, the greatest risk and the highest stakes. The eyes of six billion people on nine planets are turned on the Westinghouse Hill tonight. Who will be the first assassin? Out of these many brilliant applicants, representing all classes and Hills, who will be the first to try his hand for the prize and the acclamation of a whole civilization?"
"How about you?" Laura said suddenly to Benteley. "Why don't you put in an application?"
"Not my line!"
"Make it your line! Al, haven't we that big tape they put out—all the successful assassins of the past, their lives and everything about them? Show it to Ted." "I've seen it," Benteley said curtly.
"... Experts predict that the first assassin will have a seventy-thirty chance of destroying Quizmaster Cartwright and winning the prize put up by Reese Verrick, the previous Quizmaster. If the first assassin fails, the betting is sixty-forty on the second. Cartwright will have better control over his army and telepathic Corps after the initial two days. For the assassin, speed rather than form will count in the opening phase. During the last lap the situation will be tight because..."
Laura leaned contentedly back, a cigarette between her fingers, and smiled at Benteley.
"Think you'll move your things here to Chemie? You could stay with us until you find a decent place."
Al picked a date from a bowl. He ate it slowly. "Too sweet. What planet's it from? Venus? It tastes like one of those pulpy Venusian fruits."
"It's from Asia Minor," Laura said.
"Here on Earth? Who muted it?"
"Nobody; it's a natural fruit. From a palm tree."