reasonable. "All the same," I insisted, "that Dr. MacCluett is getting jealous."

She told me to stop worrying about it. "I'll handle the good doctor," she said. It was like a kid with a toy blaster telling you he'd handle that armored column.

The very next day the good doctor lowered the boom on me. Panda was lecturing at some woman's club out in Pomona when it happened. I hadn't planned on appearing at the Foundation that afternoon, but Dr. MacCluett called up and asked me if I would stop in. He sounded so genial I decided Panda must have informed him he now loved me like a brother.

For once there were no visiting neurologists waiting in the lab. In fact, there was nobody there but Dr. MacCluett.

"Freddy," he said, opening hostilities with a big false smile, "I have one final experiment I would like to perform on you. I've been holding it back to the last because it may be a bit rough."

I asked him how rough did he mean. I said, "I'm wrestling down at the pier tonight, and I can't go on that card with a broken leg. I go on that card with a broken leg and those kindly old ladies will part my head right down the middle."

"This experiment will involve no hazard to limb," he assured me, his smile turning somewhat bleak. "And it may prove to be of great scientific importance."

Well, I thought, as long as it was for Science, I ought to do it. After all, Science has done a lot for me. If it wasn't for Science I'd probably be crouched in a cold cave, gnawing on a raw buffalo. I wanted Science to know I was grateful.

Since my last visit to the Foundation, I noticed the doctor had added another piece of equipment. It was set up beside the contour chair. It looked like one of those analyzers they use in garages to check motor performance. There was a long metal barrel sticking out from it. That barrel pointed directly at my head when I sat down in the chair.

"Dr. MacCluett," I said, "if you've got this gun loaded, maybe you better not aim it at my head. I am liable to dull that bullet."

"This instrument is not a gun," he grunted, making a micrometer adjustment. He sighted down the barrel and added, "It's a symbiotic waveshape modifier."

The doctor hadn't been kidding when he said that experiment was going to be rough. One moment I was sitting there, big-wheeling 

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