"Possibly, but I don't think so," Fred said. Then a stray wisp of thought brushed his memory—"The eternal pessimist"—made him shudder and hurry on. "From what I remember of psych, he's withdrawn past the point of return. Like so many guys in the physical sciences, he had a streak of insecurity. That's why the categorizing outlook; all data must be fitted into a neat plan. He ran into a bit of data that wouldn't fit; worse, the data turned on him, gave him a sense of security he'd never known. When I jerked us away from the planet, the shock to him must have been similar to the birth trauma. He slipped away from reality. Chances are he'll never come back."
"And the trouble with you guys in the social sciences is too much theorizing on insufficient data!" It was Lodgesen, pale, needing a shave, but otherwise normal.
Charlesworth stood firmly on two feet. "You all right?"
Lodgesen nodded, folded his thin frame into a chair. "I came out of it. Don't know why. All of a sudden, I was back. Like waking up."
"Everything seems to happen suddenly on the USS Taurus," Beth said lightly, "We're glad, Dick."
Things did happen suddenly, Fred thought, too suddenly. I'd better mull this one over.... He got painfully to his feet. "I've still got some work to do before we land. Excuse me." Then, to Lodgesen: "Take it easy. You've had a shock."
"So have you," the other replied with a wolflike grin, "and you may have others in store."
Fred ignored the remark, limped away. But instinctive bells pealed a warning, one he tried to rationalize away. He wasn't having much success.
In his own cabin, Fred paced rapidly, ignoring the pain in his toe. On the view-forward screen, Earth appeared as a sphere. They were so close.... The view-aft screen showed nothing but the emptiness of space. Lodgesen's miraculous recovery had shaken him. It didn't add, and the last time something didn't add, there'd been trouble. Incredible as it seemed, he wasn't really sure they'd lost the planet—