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DREAMING
    THE MASS of charging lakewater batted the four toward the stern of the Mary Nestor . Amid the shrieks was Bashalli’s—as she tumbled overboard!
    The Spektor control unit had been dashed from Tom’s hand. He slipped and struggled across the flooded deck planks to reach the cosmotron. He hooked an arm around the neutronamo and decoupled it from the cosmotron with a convulsive yank. Instantly the tentacle of water dissolved into rain and loudly sloshed back into the lake.
    "T-Tom!" Sandy cried. " Bashi —!"
    The sailboat was now motionless, but the few seconds of its arrowing flight had carried it a great distance across the calm lake. They could see the young Pakistani splashing about well behind them, a small raven-haired figure.
    Tom was caught in frantic hesitation. Where had the controller fallen? Did he dare reconnect the neutronamo to power the boat back to Bash? Did he have time to hoist the sail?
    But as Tom’s brain spun its wheels furiously, Bud was already in motion. Kicking off his deck shoes, he flung himself into the water and began charging toward Bashalli with strokes of muscle.
    Tom spied the Spektor and gave the cosmotron a reset command. He recoupled the neutronamo, and the boat assumed a crisp speed. With Sandy on the rudder, the Mary Nestor put about.
    Two swimming figures met the boat halfway. Bashalli rolled over the gunwales almost gracefully. Then the three dragged Bud aboard as the boat listed and rocked violently.
    " Mmph !" he sputtered. "G-guess I shouldn’t try shouting encouragement while I’m swimming."
    "Not only that," said Bash calmly, "but you managed to ram your hard head into mine. At least it shook the water from my ears." Kneeling, she leaned over and kissed him on his wet cheek. "But I thank you—all of you—for your heroic rescue."
    "I, er—guess we forgot that you’re a pretty good swimmer," Sandy said apologetically.
    "And that I habitually keep a cool head. Though it rings when struck."
    Bud sighed, male ego damp and deflated. "Tom—just what happened? It looked like your cosmotron was funneling the water right out of the lake."
    Tom wiped water from his deep-set blue eyes. "That’s pretty much it. At higher power the ‘space stretch’ in front of us was carrying air and water along with it, creating a siphon effect due to surface tension."
    "A horizontal waterspout! Sorry for bumping you, Skipper. Guess I ruined the test."
    Tom grinned. "No, pal—just made it exciting. I’d say the cosmotron spacedriver really proved its stuff—all things considered."
    "And without mussing a hair," added Sandy sourly, wringing out her long golden waterlogged locks.
    The afternoon’s relaxation concluded, Tom returned to Enterprises and his test routine, with a change of clothes in the small apartment adjoining one of his labs. Revivified by a fresh blue-striped T-shirt, he paused for reflection in the office he shared with his father, who was presently at the Swift Construction Company, owned by Enterprises, on the other side of town.
    Staring at his desktop, he acknowledged that he felt—uneasy. The home invasion, the assault on his family’s safety, still rankled and worried him. Was he doing the right thing in cooperating with the Taxman? It’s someone I’m not sure I’ve even met, he reminded himself. Once he had thought Asa Pike was the Taxman, the agent of Collections who kept in contact with him. He had met a hulk of a man named Miza Ranooq, who claimed the title, mockingly and evasively. Who was the Taxman? What was "Collections"? Were they part of the United States security apparatus, as it appeared? Or—
    Was he being maneuvered into doing the work of fantastically sophisticated plotters who had somehow infiltrated the government of his country?
    Tom stared at the phone on his desk. On impulse, he lifted the receiver—then set it down again. I may know the truth, he told himself, but I don’t know that I know it—not yet!
    The young inventor worked the