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Reich's
    v-phone.
    "Is this line secure?" he asked sharply.
    In answer Reich simply pointed to the Warranty Seal.
    "All right," Tate said. "I think I've done the job for you, I peeped @kins last
    night. But before I report, I must warn you. There's a chance of error when you
    deep peep a 1st. @kins blocked pretty carefully."
    "I understand."
    "Craye D'Courtney arrives from Mars on the `Astra' next Wednesday morning. He
    will go at once to Maria Beaumont's town house where he will be a secret and
    hidden guest for exactly one night... No more."
    "One night," Reich muttered. "And then? His plans?"
    "I don't know. Apparently D'Courtney is planning some form of drastic action---"
     
    "Against me!" Reich growled.
    "Perhaps. According to @kins, D'Courtney is under some kind of violent strain
    and his adaptation pattern is shattering. The Life Instinct and Death Instinct
    have defused. He is regressing under the emotional bankruptcy very rapidly..."
    "God damn it! My life depends on this," Reich raged. "Talk straight."
    "It's quite simple. Every man is a balance of two opposed drives... The Life
    Instinct and the Death Instinct. Both drives have the identical purpose... to
    win Nirvana. The Life Instinct fights for Nirvana by smashing all opposition.
    The Death Instinct attempts to win Nirvana by destroying itself. Usually both
    instincts fuse in the adapted individual. Under strain they defuse. That's
    what's happening to D'Courtney."
    "Yes, by God! And he's jetting for me!"
    "@kins will see D'Courtney Thursday morning in an effort to dissuade him from
    whatever he contemplates. @kins is afraid of it and determined to stop it. He
    made a flying trip from Venus to cut D'Courtney off."
    "He won't have to stop it. I'll stop it myself. He won't have to protect me.
    I'll protect myself. It's self-defense, Tate... not murder! Self-defense! You've
    done a good job. This is all I need."
    "You need much more, Reich. Among other things, time. This is Monday. You'll
    have to be ready by Wednesday."
    "I'll be ready," Reich growled. "You'd better be ready too."
    "We can't afford to fail, Reich. If we do---it's Demolition. You realized that?"
     
    "Demolition for both of us. I realize that." Reich's voice began to crack. "Yes,
    Tate, you're in this with me, and I'm in it straight to the finish... all the
    way to Demolition."
    He planned all through Monday, audaciously, bravely, with confidence. He
    pencilled the outlines as an artist fills a sheet with delicate tracery before
    the bold inking-in; but he did no final inking. That was to be left for the
    killer-instinct on Wednesday. He put the plan away and slept Monday night... and
    awoke screaming, dreaming again of The Man With No Face.
    Tuesday afternoon, Reich left Monarch Tower early and dropped in at the Century
    Audio-bookstore on Sheridan Place. It specialized mostly in piezoelectric
    crystal recordings... tiny jewels mounted in elegant settings. The latest vogue
    was brooch-operas for M'lady. ("She Shall Have Music Wherever She Goes.")
    Century also had shelves of obsolete printed books.
    "I want something special for a friend I've neglected," Reich told the salesman.
     
    He was bombarded with merchandise.
    "Not special enough," he complained. "Why don't you people hire a peeper and
    save your clients this trouble? How quaint and old-fashioned can you get?" He
    began sauntering around the shop, tailed by a retinue of anxious clerks.
    After he had dissembled sufficiently, and before the worried manager could send
    out for a peeper salesman, Reich stopped before the bookshelves.
    "What's this?" he inquired in surprise.
    "Antique books, Mr. Reich." The sales staff began explaining the theory and
    practice of the archaic visual book while Reich slowly searched for the tattered
    brown volume that was his goal. He remembered it well. He had glanced through it
    five years ago and made a note in his little black opportunity book. Old Geoffry
    Reich wasn't the only Reich who believed in