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encompass the room. "The Jewel Hall is encrusted not with jewels, but with holograms. The holograms embody all the visual information, all the beauty, of the jewels they pretend to be. " He laughed the deep, pleasant laugh of a grandfather who has just passed a secret down two generations. "And the information that describes those jewels is all that's really important about them, isn't it? Would this display be any more spectacular if the jewels contained minerals as well as information?''
    Bill shakes his head. "I guess not. It's incredible." A thrill runs through his mind. This Zetetic comparison of truth and materials makes the deepest sense to him—the truth, as Bill creates it for his audiences, is more valuable than any possible jewel.
    "Congratulations on passing your first Zetetic test. Many people feel tricked when we acquaint them with this room. Actually, we offer just the opposite of a trick. We offer a lesson—a lesson that does not hurt, that is valuable, and that is not too expensive."
    "I guess so." Bill still feels on the defensive. Yet he begins to feel the thrill of the hunt as well. Nathan Pilstrom makes a challenging target for his next report.
    But Nathan steps through another door. Bill follows, tense and excited. What lesson lies in the room beyond the Jewel Hall?
    He breathes a sigh of relief. A comfortingly normal room greets him. Its shape suggests the gentle contours of the overall building. A receptionist looks up at them.
    Nathan taps a terminal on the side. "Take a look through our catalog of offerings. I think you'll be surprised at the number of ways that discriminating information can alter your life. Do you smoke?"
    Bill shakes his head.
    "Perhaps you would be interested in . . . no, probably not. How about a seminar on separating fact from fluff in newscasting?"
    Damn this man! Bill frowns. "I don't think I need it."
    Nathan stops. "My apologies. I don't mean to be pushy." He shrugs. "Sometimes I'm as bad as the car salesman we use as an example."
    The receptionist, fielding a buzz from the intercom, interrupts. "Nathan, Senator Forstil has arrived."
    He smiles at her warmly. "Thanks." He turns back to Bill with a final comment. "If you don't have specific needs for Zetetic methods, you should take the Sampler.
    It'll give you some idea of how we apply surprising ideas to everyday problems."
    "That sounds great." Yes, this is what Bill needs. Only with a broad view of the Institute can he find the most striking defects of the organization. The Sampler will be perfect.
    Bill watches Nathan depart with cruel amusement. So Senator Forstil is involved with the Institute! He'll get some mileage out of that.

    Only an expert could have discerned the quiet struggle in the soft-lit office. Nathan leaned against the edge of his desk, his arms folded. His head drooped, as if he might nod off at any moment. He seemed so casual, so cool.
    But the expert would have spotted his twitch every time a stray sound rattled down the hall. The expert would have seen Nathan's lips draw to a short smile following each twitch. It was a smile of forgiving laughter—Nathan laughed at himself. He was very, very nervous about this meeting with Senator Forstil.
    How annoying Nathan found it, to be the founder and president of an Institute dedicated to helping people overome unsanity, and still be subject himself to such irrational anxiety!
    Still, denial of that anxiety would mark an even lower level of sanity. Nathan smiled at the anxiety and jumped at every sound.
    He let his eyes roam across the walls of his office. People who associated him with the Information Age often felt surprise at his choice of decorations. A number of mementos seemed appropriate: a flow chart hung in one corner, describing the first PEP program developed by the Zetetic Corporation. The signatures of the PEP development team members filled one corner of the chart. A long, narrow, Escher print snaked across the wall behind his desk.
    But