"I walked into this, don't forget," Clocker reminded him. "I didn't know what I was getting into, but I was ready to take anything."
"That," said the little man, "is the unknown factor. Yes, you did submit voluntarily and you were ready to take anything—but were you psychologically prepared for this? We don't know. We think there may be no characteristic wrench—"
"Meaning I won't have amnesia?"
"Meaning that you may not. We cannot be certain until a test has been made."
"Then," said Clocker, "I want a deal. It's Zelda I want; you know that, at any rate. You say you're after a record of us in case we bump ourself off, but you also say you'd like us not to. I'll buy that. I don't want us to, either, and there's a chance that we can stop it together."
"An extremely remote one," Mr. Calhoun stated.
"Maybe, but a chance. Now if you let me out and I'm the first case that don't get amnesia, I can tell the world about all this. I might be able to steer other guys, scientists and decent politicians, into coming here to get the dope straighter than I could. Maybe that'd give Earth a chance to cop a pardon on getting extinct. Even if it don't work, it's better than hanging around the radio waiting for the results."
Dr. Harding hissed on his glasses and wiped them thoughtfully, an adopted mannerism, obviously, because he seemed to see as well without them. "You have a point, Mr. Locke, but it would mean losing your contribution to our archives."
"Well, which is more important?" Clocker argued. "Would you rather have my record than have us save ourself?"