"Then there's never any proof for you. You can't watch her every minute."

John raised himself unsteadily, and stitched his finger into the air. "That, my dear Doctor, is where you are wrong." He stood and groped his way into the light of the cabin. Angus followed, trying to see his face.

"There is something more to this, John. Let's stop the riddles and say what we mean."

The captain spun in sharp, stifled anger. "Shall I tell you, Angus? Shall I let you in on my secret?" The anger detonated. "All right, damn it! You came here for it. I'll give it to you! You know my lightscope? Well, it works. It works fine!"

"What has this—?"

"Do you know what Johnny-boy has been doing with the blasted thing?" he cried, "I've been using it to play inquirer. I've been using it to spy on my wife."

The doctor's jaw dropped. "You have what?"

"That's right. Night after night, I've come back here. I've set up the god-dammed thing—and I've scanned."

"This is incredible!"

"Three nights ago I found New York. Two nights ago, I co-ordinated to the Hudson River. Last night I got as far as the third level. Tonight—" his arms swept a circle—"East Lynne."

Vortler's hand smashed down. "It's got to stop! There's no reason for this. I won't permit it."

"What can you do? It's my lightscope—my ship. My orders supersede yours."

Vortler closed the space between them, his fists knobbed white. John laughed. "Don't overdo it, Angus. I'm not worth it." The sound died to a chuckle, "Besides, remember your emotiograph. Somebody will spank."

The doctor's hands opened slowly, a finger at a time.

"Tell me, Angus. Can you honestly blame me? I suspect my wife. I'm trying to find out."

"But you're wrong!"

"It could be. The thing is possible." He leaned toward the psychosurgeon. "You think about it and tell me. It's possible?"

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