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the chair, cross-legged, his eyes focused slightly away from Dan.
    “Hello, Mr. Randolph,” said Zachary Freiberg. He was a youngish man, with curly strawberry-blond hair flopping down boyishly over his broad forehead. His face was round, applecheeked. An open-neck shirt, its pocket stuffed with pens, rumpled denims and feet bare except for sandals that were cheap imitations of Japanese getas. Dan got an impression of youth and lazy softness. He suppressed a frown, feeling suddenly overdressed in his own informal shirt and slacks.
    “Dr. Freiberg.” Dan forced a smile. “How’s the weather in California?”
    Freiberg grinned back at him. “Sunny and warm, what else?”
    Unconsciously, Dan sniffed at the dank air of his office. No matter how much he spent on air conditioning, the place always smelled slightly fetid to him, as if the jungle beyond the city’s limits were sneaking back in to reclaim the territory that humans had tried to steal from it. Not even Houston, for all its humidity, was as bad as this. Today, with the tropical torrent tumbling out of the skies, the air felt musty and almost chill. Dan knew it was more in his imagination than reality, but still he nearly shuddered.
    “We’re about ready for Noah’s ark here,” he said, making a joke of it.
    “Yes,” Freiberg said, “I can see the rain coming down past your window.”
    On both sides of it, Dan groused to himself. Aloud, he said, “Dr. Freiberg, I thought that you were all set to join us here at Astro Manufacturing. Now my personnel manager tells me there’s a hitch. What’s the problem?”
    Freiberg’s round face grew serious. His eyes strayed slightly away from Dan’s, avoiding direct contact.
    “Well, uh …” he stammered, “it’s, uh … well, it’s a little embarrassing.”
    Dan said nothing and waited for Freiberg to sort out his conflicting emotions. The scientist looked overweight to Dan, both physically and emotionally. Still wearing his baby fat. But Astro Manufacturing’s chief scientist and personnel director both insisted that Freiberg was the best planetary geochemist they could find. He was the man they needed, and therefore the man Dan wanted to hire. Freiberg had agreed to this appointment with Dan, so obviously the man was willing to talk. It would just take him a few moments to get over the hang-up of politeness. Dan had learned years earlier that most people would rather make asses of themselves than say something they considered impolite. They were trained from childhood to be pleasant and never utter a word that might upset someone. “If you can’t say something nice, say nothing at all,” was the wisdom that long generations of parents instilled in their trusting offspring. So the kids grew up to tie themselves in knots, holding back their true feelings, smiling when they wanted to spit, and they wound up paying exorbitant fees to psychologists or going to pop therapy courses where they finally liberated themselves enough to be able to say in public, “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”
    Freiberg squirmed in his chair and twitched for a few moments, then said at last, “The problem is that all my friends tell me I’d be almost committing treason if I went to work for you.”
    “Treason?” Dan snapped.
    “A lot of people here think that you’re a …” Freiberg’s face reddened. “Well, a traitor.”

Chapter FIVE

    Dan leaned back in his leather chair and eyed the younger man carefully. He had expected something like this. At least it was out in the open now.
    Carefully, calmly, he replied, “According to the Constitution, treason consists of giving aid and comfort to an enemy of the United States.”
    “That’s merely the legal definition … .”
    “Do you think I’m a traitor to the United States because I’ve moved my corporation’s headquarters to Caracas?”
    “You left the country.”
    Dan forced his voice to remain calm, reasonable. “In a sense, Dr. Freiberg, you could say