He popped up almost immediately and came at me with a savage right. I heard June utter a little scream as his fist caught me off-guard and cracked into my jaw; I backed up a step or two, shaking off the grogginess, and hit him carefully just below the heart. He folded up and dropped back into the chair.

“Sorry, June,” I said apologetically. “But I have to have this thing done my way.”

Jim opened one eye, than another, and sat there without making any further disturbance. “June, get your video on. Find out if what your brother says is true.”

“Can’t you believe me?” he asked.

“No,” I told him bluntly. I wasn’t taking any chances.

June was fumbling with the dials of her video, and a moment later a newscaster’s face came on the screen. I listened stonily as he proceeded to give my description, or a rough approximation thereof, and repeated “President” Hawkins’ bone-chilling threat that the collars would be gradually tightened unless I was turned in.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ve heard enough. Shut that thing off.” I whirled and faced them. Both June and her brother were pale-faced and frightened; they wore the same beaten, cowed look I’d noticed on the truckdrivers. This was a city of perpetual terror.

“Look,” I told them. “I’m going to turn myself in, as soon as possible.”

“But—” June started weakly to say.

“No. There’s nothing else I can do. I’m going to turn myself in and let them put a collar around my neck.” The words came tumbling out easily, and I was forming my plan even as I spoke.

“Why don’t you just escape through the airlock?” June asked. “Go back where you came from. You can still get away, and you won’t have to wear the collar.”

I shook my head firmly. “No. Two reasons. The first is that your benevolent administrators may take punitive measures against you anyway; the second is that you’re suggesting I run away—and I just don’t believe in running away. I’m going to stay here till the job is done.”