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into his pantry and mixed drinks.
                Presently she pattered after him and became domestic. The steak was waiting in the package lift; with it were pre-baked potatoes ready to be popped into short-wave. She tossed the salad, handed it to the refrigerator, then set up a combination on the stove to grill the steak and have the potatoes hot simultaneously, but did not start the cycle. "Ben, doesn't this stove have a remote control?"
                "Of course."
                "Well, I can't find it."
                He studied the setup on the control panel, then flipped an unmarked switch. "Jill, what would you do if you had to cook over an open fire?"
                "I'd do darn well. I was a Girl Scout and a good one. How about you, smarty?"
                He ignored it, picked up a tray and went back to the living room; she followed and sat down at his feet, spreading her skirt to avoid grass stains. They applied themselves seriously to martinis. Opposite his chair was a stereovision tank disguised as an aquarium; he switched it on from his chair, guppies and tetras faded out and gave way to the face of a commentator, the well-known winchell Augustus Greaves.
                "-it can be stated authoritatively," the stereo image was saying, "that the Man from Mars is being kept constantly under hypnotic drugs to keep him from disclosing these facts. The administration would find it extremely embarrassing if-"
                Canon flipped it off. "Gus old boy," he said pleasantly, "you don't know a durn thing more about it than I do." He frowned. "Though you might be right about the government keeping him under drugs."
                "No, they aren't," Jill said suddenly.
                "Eh? How's that, little one?"
                "The Man from Mars isn't being kept under hypnotics." Having blurted more than she had meant to, she added carefully, "He's got a nurse and a doctor all to himself on continuous watch, but there aren't any orders for sedation."
                "Are you sure? You aren't one of his nurses-or are you?"
                "No. They're male nurses. Uh ... matter of fact, there's an order to keep women away from him entirely and a couple of tough marines to make sure of it."
                Caxton nodded. "I heard about that. Fact is, you don't know whether they are drugging him or not. Do you?"
                Jill stared into her empty glass. She felt annoyed to have her word doubted but realized she would have to tell on herself to back up what she had said. "Ben? You wouldn't give me away? Would you?"
                "Give you away? How?"
                "Any way at all."
                "Hmm ... that covers a lot of ground, but I'll go along."
                "All right. Pour me another one first." He did so, Jill went on. "I know they don't have the Man from Mars hopped up-because I talked with him."
                Caxton gave a slow whistle. "I knew it. When I got up this morning I said to myself, 'Go see Jill. She's the ace up my sleeve.' Honey lamb, have another drink. Have six. Here, take the pitcher."
                "Not so fast, thanks."
                "Whatever you like. May I rub your poor tired feet? Lady, you are about to be interviewed. Your public waits with quivering impatience. Now let's begin at the beginning. How-"
                "No, Ben! You promised-remember? You quote me just one little quote and I'll lose my job."
                "Mmm ... probably. How about 'from a usually reliable source'?"
                "I'd be scared."
                "Well? Are you going to tell Uncle Ben? Or are you going to let him die of frustration and then eat that steak by yourself?"
                "Oh, I'll talk-now that I've talked this much. But you can't use it."