would have happened. What if, no matter what we do, Moonbase One goes anyway?

"Remember, we haven't yet built Moonbase Two. If our only base on the moon is destroyed, the Soviets will have the whole moon to themselves. Have you any suggestions?"

"Sure," said Taggert. "Ask yourself one question: What is the purpose of Moonbase One?"

Slowly, a beatific smile spread itself over the senator's face.

The whole discussion had taken exactly ninety seconds.

"Mrs. Jesser," said Brian Taggert to the well-rounded, fortyish woman behind the reception desk at S.M.M.R. headquarters, "this is Dr. Forsythe. He has established a reputation as one of the finest seers living today."

Mrs. Jesser looked at the distinguished, white-bearded gentleman with an expression that was almost identical with the one her grandmother had worn when she met Rudolph Valentino, nearly sixty years before, and the one her mother had worn when she saw Frank Sinatra a generation later. It was not an uncommon expression for Mrs. Jesser's face to wear: it appeared every time she was introduced to anyone who looked impressive and was touted as a great mystic of one kind or another.

"I'm so glad to meet you, Dr. Forsythe!" she burbled eagerly.

"Dr. Forsythe will be working for us for the next few months—his office will be Room B on the fourth floor," Taggert finished. He was genuinely fond of the woman, in spite of her mental dithers and schoolgirl mannerisms. Mysticism fascinated her, and she was firmly convinced that she had "just a weenie bit" of psychic power herself, although its exact nature seemed to change from time to time. But she did both her jobs well, although she was not aware of her double function. She thought she was being paid as a receptionist and phone operator, and she was quick and efficient about her work. She was also the perfect screen for the Society's real work, for if anyone ever suspected that the S.M.M.R. was not the group of crackpots that it appeared to be, five minutes talking with Mrs. Jesser would convince them otherwise.

"Oh, you're staying with us, Dr. Forsythe? How wonderful! We simply must have a talk sometime!"

"Indeed we must, dear lady," said Forsythe. His voice and manner had just the right amount of benign dignity, with an almost indetectable touch of pompous condescending.

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