kind of a story?" Herschell asked excitedly.

"Ah was tellin' her the end of the feelie we saw; Ah mean Ah saw. She didn't get to see it."

"You mean Terror From Mars?" Herschell asked.

"Ah guess that's it. Ah don't recollect the title for certain."

"Great!" Lemson said. "It often takes a week long conference to select a feelie title and this typical American youth can't remember the name of the feelie he lived less than a hour ago."

"How were you telling it?" Herschell asked.

"Ah jus' told it."

"He storytells fine," Robina said proudly. "He sorta acts it out with feelin' an' really makes it seem like it's happenin' to you right then and there."

Herschell turned to Lemson. "I'm sure he's the one, Cy. It fits. I've got the spark of an idea and if it works then U-Live-It will be right on top of the feelie heap."

"We're already on top," Lemson said wearily. "U-Live-It is the biggest producer of feelies and I think you're crazy, I think they're both insane and I will be if you don't tell me what this is all about. You come barging into my office—"

"Sorry, Cy, but this thing happened so fast. I'm in my office right below you. I've got Myra Shane doing a reading, trying to convince her the part is perfect for her. But she isn't coming through on the receptor. Instead I'm getting the climax of Terror From Mars. Zack is receptorman and it takes him less than no time to check through and okay our electronics. That means only one thing. Someone, somehow, is blotting us with another projection. I call around and no one is running a projector and no one is reading. Your girl tells me you have a couple of kids up there so I come up to see. And I'm sure that big rebel is the one! He has to be!"

Lemson was alert with interest. "But he's not wearing a relay. How could the receptor pick up and record his perceptics?"

"He might have a surgical." Herschell inquired of Jason, "Did you ever have an operation for the insertion of an encephalic booster relay! you know, a thought relay?"

"You mean them tiny transistor things that feelie actors have stuck in their heads?"

"That's it."

"No, Ah never had nothin' like that," Jason said, baffled.

"That's impossible," Lemson said, "no one can project with enough natural power to imprint a receptor unless they've got a booster."

"Well it's not impossible anymore," Herschell said gleefully. "Look Cy, you squash this silly business about the permit. I want this fella to make a receptor test as soon as possible. When his folks show up tell them we might want to make a feelie star out of their son but don't build it up or they'll be back with a regiment of lawyers and contracts."

"Bob, you're going off the deep end with this deal. So what if he can project au naturel? Can he act?"

"If you had been plugged into the receptor like I was a few minutes ago and felt him, you wouldn't even ask."

"What about that atrocious accent?"

"Look, Cy, I'll abide by the receptor test. If he can't act; out! If he's as terrific as I think he is we'll put him in westerns and civil war feelies until we can train the accent out of him. Cy, if he doesn't turn out to be the greatest thing that hit the feelie business I'll eat my contract."

Five months later Herschell came beaming into Lemson's office and tossed an open-folded newspaper at him. "Cy, did you read Lorancelli's review of Rowe's oatburner?"

"That's just great!" Lemson snapped. "We spend millions of advertising and publicity dollars to convince people that we make adult westerns and you, a production vice president, go around calling them oatburners."

"Okay, Cy, but read the review. He rated the feelie so so but he raves about Jason Rowe."

Lemson picked up the paper and had it immediately snatched out of his hands by an impatient Herschell who began reading snatches of it. "Listen ... uh ... Jason Rowe is an intense young man whose magnificent talent is wasted in the