“Another test?” Kennon inquired.     

       Alexander nodded. “The critical one,” he said. “Do you want the job?”      

       “Of course.”      

       “Without knowing more about it?”      

       “The contract is adequate. It defines my duties.”      

       “And you think you can handle them?”      

       “I know I can.”      

       “I notice,” Alexander observed, “that you didn’t object to other provisions.”      

       “No, sir. They’re pretty rigid, but for the salary you are paying I figure you should have some rights. Certainly you have the right to protect your interests. But that Article Twelve is a direct violation of everything a human being should hold sacred besides being a violation of the Peeper Laws. I’d never sign a contract that didn’t carry a full Peeper rider.”      

       “That’s quite a bit.”      

       “That’s the minimum,” Kennon corrected. “Naturally, I won’t object to mnemonic erasure of matters pertaining to your business once my contract’s completed and I leave your employment. But until then there will be no conditioning, no erasures, no taps, no snoopers, and no checkups other than the regular periodic psychans. I’ll consult with you on vacation time and will arrange it to suit your convenience. I’ll even agree to emergency recall, but that’s the limit.” Kennon’s voice was flat.     

       “You realize I’m agreeing to give you a great deal of personal liberty,”        Alexander said. “How can I protect myself?”      

       “I’ll sign a contingency rider,” Kennon said, “if you will specify precisely what security matters I am not to reveal.”      

       “I accept,” Alexander said. “Consider yourself hired.” He touched a button on his desk. “Prepare a standard 2-A contract for Dr. Jac Kennon’s signature. And attach two riders, a full P-P-yes, no exceptions—and a security-leak contingency, Form 287-C. Yes—that’s right—that one. And strike out all 

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