moving me. One little slip and it'd be all over."

There was an upward curl to the other's lips that Mel didn't like. "Oh, we'd have to be careful," he admitted. "Luckily the time delay wouldn't hurt any, there's so much money rolling in." He hesitated for a moment, as if in thought, then concluded, "In fact, there's no project on now unless you have a private one of your own. It might be a good idea to plan on the move right away."

"I still don't like the idea," stated Mel flatly. "I'd like to think it over for a couple of days."

"Think it over all you want," said Neil with a grin. He walked to the calculator and patted it near the jolter. "Only don't forget I don't have to ask you." He waited almost hopefully but Mel said nothing, content with the feeling of power and knowledge that, so long as he was prepared, the other could do nothing immediate to harm him. The time had come for action, however.

Mel kept mental contact with his partner after he had left. Neil went directly to the office and unlocked the center drawer of his desk. He then began pulling out papers and scanning them rapidly, placing some back and keeping others out. Mel gasped to himself when he saw the bank statement and the amount of money deposited under the name of the partnership. That in Neil's personal account was large but it was perfectly obvious, according to dates Mel could see through the other's eyes, that the transfer of funds had not been underway for long. As it now stood, they were both practically millionaires but he knew Neil wouldn't be satisfied.

Watching through the other's eyes, Mel had his vision switched from the desk to the door. He saw that Jenkins had just entered, mouth moving. He thought he could read his lips just enough to make out his own name. Jenkins appeared to stop and listen to Neil, then his facial expression changed as his lips protested over something. Mel's vision then switched to another desk drawer that had been opened and he saw his missing revolver nesting in it. Neil withdrew it and pointed it at Jenkins. The assistant stepped back, hands up as if to ward off a blow. Then a placating, if anxious, smile spread over his face and his mouth worked rapidly, too much so for Mel to read any words. Whatever had been said, it appeared to satisfy Neil since he lowered the revolver.

Mel broke contact and came back to his own room and stationary video scanners that served as his eyes. Jenkins came in and his manner made it plain to Mel that he was laboring under an intense pressure. He began puttering around the work table, gradually making his way closer to the tank housing Mel's brain.

"Jenkins," said Mel, purposely extra loud.

The assistant jumped nervously, dropping a piece of metal he had picked up.

"Yes," he almost quavered.

"Have you ever thought how it would be to be condemned to a life like mine?"

"No-o-o, not especially. Why should I?"

"You helped put me here, you know."

"I was only following orders, I—"

"All right, all right. I know how Neil can force a person to do something. But you could help me, you know."

"How's that?" suspiciously. "I'm not going to tell anyone, if that's what you're driving at."

"No, I'm not trying to get you to do that. All I want is the fuse replaced on the cart. Then it would feel as if I were moving around and break up the monotony. This is worse than any solitary cell in prison could ever be."

"No," refused the assistant flatly. "It wouldn't do you any good anyway. It's just—" He stopped, hand going to his mouth as if he had said something he wasn't supposed to.

"How's that, Jenkins?" reminded Mel as gently as he could. "What's supposed to happen?"

"I don't know," replied Jenkins sullenly.

"Put a fuse back in the cart," directed Mel. At the same time he applied pressure almost to the breaking point against the other's mind.

"No!"

He knifed through to the other's brain with ease and just enough power to