The crinkly-haired man took his arm roughly. "Okay, kid. Let's hear it."
"Hear what?" Ron said plaintively. "I wasn't doing anything!"
"Sure," the guard sneered. "He wasn't doin' a thing. Just snoopin' around, that's all."
The swinging door opened.
"What's going on here?"
Ron Carver looked at himself; at his own face, now strange and stony; at his own eyes, now bright and disinterested; at his own mouth, now a thin line of discontent. He heard his own voice, in a dangerous inflection he had never known before.
"Sorry, sir," the guard said, reddening. "Didn't know you were inside. Wouldn't have disturbed you—"
"How did he get here?"
"Gosh, sir, I really don't know. He says he was lookin' for Dr. Minton—"
"Minton," Ron Carver's voice said. "Yes, of course. He would be looking for Minton, wouldn't he?"
"Sir?"
"Never mind. Bring the boy into my quarters. Then get Dr. Minton up here at once."
"Yes, sir!"
They pushed the swinging door open and shoved Ron ahead of them. The room was an anomaly in this pristine government building, a warm room of deep-colored woods and thick carpeting. He was placed in a leather chair, his feet not touching the floor. The two men exited, and Ron Carver's body walked to an oaken desk and sat in the padded swivel chair behind the blotter.
"Well," he said. "This is something of a surprise for me."
"And how about me?" Ron said hoarsely.
The man laughed. "Yes, we are both surprised. Was it Robert Burns? Yes, of course. 'To see ourselves as others see us....'" He chuckled, and reached for a cigarette. "Filthy habit, this. Don't know how I picked it up. Possibly a deep-seated trait of yours, Mr. Carver. Odd how these things can be transferred."
The door opened again.
"Dr. Minton!" Ron leaped to his feet.
The doctor's face went white behind the gray beard and moustache.
"Then you've found him," he said softly, to neither of them in particular.
"No," Ron Carver's body answered. "I didn't find him, doctor. Rather, he found us. Isn't that right, Mr. Carver?"
"Yes!" Ron said. "And now I want to know the truth!"
"I, too, need answers," the Ron-body said stiffly. "I need answers at once, Dr. Minton. I would think this requires an explanation."
"I couldn't do it," the doctor whispered. "I couldn't do what you wanted, Scholar."
"Do what?" Ron said.
"All right, then," the Ron-body said coldly. "You failed once. But you're far too intelligent to make the same mistake twice. So you have your assignment, Dr. Minton. I will get you the help you need. But kill this—this remnant—"
He turned away in disgust, and picked up the telephone. He spoke under his breath for a few moments, and then hung up. "Dr. Luther will be here in just a moment. He'll arrange things with the laboratory. It will all be very painless and quick."
Ron said: "What are you talking about?" He looked wildly towards the old man, who had aged even further since entering the room. "Dr. Minton—"
The door opened. A brisk young man, carrying a small valise, appeared.
"All set downstairs," he said.
"Good," the Ron-body answered. "Then get it over with."
Ron struggled for a moment in the young man's grip, but he found it iron.
"Please, Ron." Doctor Minton's eyes were moist. "Don't make any trouble. Please...."