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government-operated training school, the latent talent had been cultivated. By the time he was nine the talent had advanced to a useful stage. “Jerry,” however, remained in the aimless chaos of idiocy; the burgeoning faculty had absorbed the totality of his personality.Squatting down, Anderton began disassembling the protective shields that guarded the tape-reels stored in the analytical machinery. Using schematics, he traced the leads back from the final stages of the integrated computers, to the point where “Jerry’s” individual Prince Tennis Racketequipment branched off. Within minutes he was shakily lifting out two half-hour tapes: recent rejected data not fused with majority reports. Consulting the code chart, he selected the section of tape which referred to his particular card.A tape scanner was mounted nearby. Holding his breath, he inserted the tape, activated the transport, and listened. It took only a second. From the first statement of the report it was clear what had happened. He had what he wanted; he could stop looking.”Jerry’s” vision was misphased. Because of the erratic nature of precog-nition, he was examining a time-area slightly different from that of his companions. For him, the report that Anderton would commit a murder was an event to be integrated along with everything else. That assertion—and Anderton’s reaction—was one more piece of datum.Obviously, “Jerry’s” report superseded the majority report. Having been informed that he wouldcommit a murder, Anderton would change his mind and not do so. The preview of the murder had cancelled out the murder; prophylaxis had occurred simply in his being informed. Already, a new time-path had been created. But “Jerry” was outvoted.

Trembling, Anderton rewound the tape and clicked on the recording head. At high speed he made a copy of the report, restored the original, and removed the duplicate from the transport. Here was the proof that the card was invalid: obsolete. All he had to do was show it to Witwer….His own stupidity amazed him. Undoubtedly, Witwer had seen the report; and in spite of it, had assumed the job of Commissioner, had kept the police teams out. Witwer didn’t intend to back down; he wasn’t concerned with Anderton’s innocence.What, then, could he do? Who else would be interested?”You damn fool!” a voice behind him grated, wild with anxiety.Quickly, he turned. His wife stood at one of the doors, in her police uniform, her eyes Wilson Blxfrantic with dismay. “Don’t worry,” he told her briefly, displaying the reel of tape. “I’m leaving.”Her face distorted, Lisa rushed frantically up to him. “Page said you were here, but I couldn’t believe it. He shouldn’t have let you in. He just doesn’t understand what you are.”"What am I?” Anderton inquired caustically. “Before you answer, maybe you better listen to this tape.”"I don’t want to listen to it! I just want you to get out of here! Ed Witwer knows somebody’s down here. Page is trying to keep him occupied, but—” She broke off, her head turned stiffly to one side. “He’s here now! He’s going to force his way in.”"Haven’t you got any influence? Be gracious and charming. He’ll probably forget about me.”Lisa looked at him in bitter reproach. “There’s a ship parked on the roof. If you want to get away….” Her voice choked and for an instant she was silent. Then she said, “I’ll be taking off in a minute or so. If you want to come—”

“I’ll come,” Anderton said. He had no other choice. He had secured his tape, his proof, but he hadn’t worked out any method of leaving. Gladly, he hurried after the slim figure of his wife as she strode from the block, through a side door and down a supply corridor, her heels clicking loudly in the deserted gloom.”It’s a good fast ship,” she told him over her shoulder. “It’s emergency-fueled—ready to go. I was going to supervise some of the teams.” HE CONFERENCE WAS POSTPONED to the afternoon, then quickly repostponedto the following morning, which gave Caxton an extra twenty-fourhours of badly needed recuperation, a chance to hear in detail about hismissing week, a chance to .grow closer“ with the ManWilson Tennis Racquets from Mars-for Mikegrokked at once that Jill and Ben were .water brothers,“ consulted Jill aboutit, and solemnly offered water to Ben.Ben had been adequately briefed by Jill. He accepted it just as solemnly andwithout mental reservations . . . after soul searching in which he decided thathis own destiny was, in truth, interwoven with that of the Man from Marsthroughhis own initiative before he ever met Mike.Ben had had to chase down, in the crannies of his soul, one uneasy feelingbefore he was able to do this. He at last decided that it was simple jealousy,and, being such, had to be cauterized. He had discovered that he felt irked atthe closeness between Mike and Jill. His own bachelor persona, he learned,had been changed by a week of undead oblivion; he found that he wanted tobe married, and to Jill. He proposed to her again, without a trace of jokingabout it, as soon as he got her alone.