The doors opened briefly, flooding the interior of the van with sunlight. The two sky cops tossed a young boy in and closed it back up. The boy hovered in the center of the van, turning slowly, looking at them all.

"You'd better come down," a young man in torn clothes said. "They're going to start up the van."

The boy didn't move. "You'll get slammed," a priest warned. "You have no inertia with respect to the Earth; but when we lift off, you'll hit that wall." He pointed against the back wall.

Apart from the priest and the young man, there were a young woman, a bum, a mother with her child, and a businessman. They all looked at him speculatively, except the businessman who looked like he wanted to deny any commonality with his fellow prisoners.

The boy wordlessly settled to the ground.

Some time later, the truck set into motion.

"Aren't you a little young to be flying?" the bum asked the boy.

The boy shrugged.

"Shouldn't be flying at your age," the bum continued. "Too young. They'd never license you to fly. You get caught like that."

"You shouldn't need to get licensed to fly!" the young woman said. "Anybody should be able to do it."

"You, too," the bum said. "Flying around dressed like that. It shows you're one of them protestors. Any cop'd see you're not legit."

"He still got caught," the young man said, pointing to the business man. "He's not dressed like a protestor."

"Yeah, what happened, man?" the bum asked. "You lose your card?"

The businessman ignored him.

"Gotta remember the card, man. You got to remember the card."

"Here I am," the businessman said, "in a criminal transport, being lectured on proper flight protocol by a jobless transient."

There was silence in the van.

"How the mighty are fallen," the young woman said. The businessman glared at her.

The van came to a stop and a cop herded them out into the police precinct. He brought them to a desk. "Patent infringement," he said.

The cop behind the desk distributed cards and pens to them. "You are being booked," he said. "Fill these out. If you don't fill them out, or if you fill them out wrong, I will resent you. You don't want that."

They sat on the benches and began to fill out the forms. The young man and woman sat nudging one another and giggling. The mother had her attention divided between the card and her child, who was acting up.

Some time later, the cop returned and collected the cards. He looked at the cards the couple had filled out. "M. Mouse, huh? D. Duck. Very funny. I guess we do this the hard way." He took out a set of cuffs and motioned to the young woman.

"Hey!" the young man said, standing up.

The cop looked at him and put one hand on his gun.

The young woman stood up and held out her hands. "I'll be okay," she said. The young man sat down.

"You'll be fine," the cop said, cuffing her hands behind her. "You're just going to prison. No big deal."

He lead her away.

The cop was gone for a long time. When he came back, he stood sorting through the stack of cards. He ignored the young man. "Hey," he said. "Who left theirs blank?"

"I did," the boy said.

"What's the problem?"

The boy shrugged. "I can't fill that out."

"Why not?"

"It says I committed a crime."

The cop explained, "Patent infringement. You were flying without a license. Kohlmann-Stewart owns the patent for flying. Since you were flying, and you didn't have a license, you were committing patent infringement."

The boy, whose name was Robert, shook his head. "I didn't use their method."

The cop was amused. "Yeah? There's only one method, and Kohlmann-Stewart owns it. Now fill out the card."

"I didn't use their method."

"What method did you use?" The boy shrugged. "There's only one method," the cop repeated loudly. "What method did you use?"

"My own."

The bum started laughing. "Right," the cop said. "You want to make this difficult? We can make this difficult."

Robert did not fill out the card, and they made it difficult.

"That's right, Jo-Anne, apparently Robert Little had some concerns as to whether filling out his booking card might be construed as a guilty plea, and consequently refused to do it. He offered what prison officials called 'passive resistance' during the booking procedure, but apparently has now settled into the routine. There's no word yet on when bail will be posted."

"Of course, legal experts assure us that filling out a booking form is not the same as pleading guilty in court. Is there any word from Kohlmann-Stewart on the boy's allegations that he has come up with an alternative method for flight?"

"Not as yet, Jo-Anne, but we are expecting a statement later today."

"Nancy Jones, thank you. Well, Brian, what are the chances that Robert Little actually has found an alternative method of flying?"

"As you know, Jo-Anne, the existing method of flying by confining certain mental parameters was discovered by Dennis Stewart about ten years ago. But is there any reason why another method couldn't be found that would do exactly the same thing? We'll have that story after weather."

"Can you turn the damn thing off now?" Matt demanded. "It's giving me a headache."

Betsy, his slim, pretty wife, turned the holovision down and went back to her spiral-bound notebook. "I need to follow it if I'm going to finish this book on time."

"Jesus Christ. Our kid is in the slammer and you're here writing a book." Matthew Little was a large man, and he sweated freely in the hot, narrow confines of their economy apartment. The air conditioner, obsolete at five years, strained against the hundred-and-ten degree Farenheit greenhouse weather.

"Matt, you know this is the best thing that's happened to us. Do you have any idea what we'll get paid for this? Help me out: I'm thinking of either, Robert Little: Genius or Fraud? Or Robert Little, My Little Boy. The first one can leave the question open until the last chapter, by which point they'll probably have reached a conclusion, while the second one has this I-don't-care-he's-my-son-and-I-love-him feel to it. But I'm afraid that might make him sound guilty."

"On second thought, I think you're the one who's giving me a headache," Matt said. "I'm going to bed. If our son calls, let me know so I can kill him."

"Can you think of any childhood incidents that indicate either moments of extreme intelligence or fraud?" she asked.

He stopped with one hand on the door to the bedroom and stared at her. "What?"

"Can you think of any incidents in Robert's childhood that indicate genius or fraud?" she asked.

"Does having an immoral opportunist mother count?" he asked.

"Oh, poo. I'm just making lemons into lemonade."

Matt went to bed. Betsy continued writing notes for her book.

In the studio, Brian Davis could see his own image just above the videocamera. He knew in the back of his mind that thousands of people were watching this image, plus the station's logo and the words "Live News at Seven." When the holoprompter cued him, he flashed a quick, handsome smile with the easy charisma that had landed him the job.

"With me now is Dayton Blair, an expert in the field of psychophysics," Brian read from the holoprompter. He turned to camera three, as the holographic instructions indicated he should. "Dayton," he read, "thank you for being with us here today. Is it possible that Robert Little has created a new method for flight?"

As Dayton Blair formulated his response, Brian saw that the camera was now trained on the scientist. He relaxed a little. His mind wandered. He knew that the image now transmitted to thousands of people bore the additional caption, "Dayton Blair Expert on Stewart Field," without, however, adding that the man worked for Kohlmann-Stewart.

Brian hoped the kid had come up with an alternative method for flight. He felt that the premiums charged by Kohlmann-Stewart were astronomical (when the service was only atmospheric). Nobody had patented walking, or swimming: why should flying be any different?

But of course, there was a specific mental algorithm which one went through to establish the Stewart Field, and it was this algorithm that Kohlmann-Stewart had patented. He had tried to explain this to his wife the night before, and had somehow been maneuvered into the position of defending Kohlmann-Stewart and their insanely high premiums. Somehow the marriage had not gone the way he had anticipated, and now, after five years, it was mostly a question of what they were going to fight about. He wondered if bringing flowers home would help.

Now it was Brian's turn. "So you're saying it's virtually impossible for Robert Little to have developed this technology," he read.

"There have been several different people who found new ways of arriving at the Stewart Field," Dayton Blair said, "but all of them have used different organizations of the Stewart algorithm, which is the only algorithm known to have the effect of flight. And these processes generally took years to produce, by teams of experts, who had access to the most up-to-date equipment in the field. So it certainly seems very unlikely to me."

"Dayton Blair, thank you." Brian turned back to camera two, as the holoprompter instructed.

In the barren, foul-smelling cell, Carl Frumm regarded the boy. "Look, kid. Nobody believes you. If you have a new method, tell us what it is."

Robert Little sat there. Carl thought he certainly didn't look like a genius. "I don't think I should have to disclose my method," the boy said.

"You have to demonstrate at least the possibility of what you're saying," his attorney explained. "If you don't, you're going to jail."

"I'm guilty until proven innocent."

Carl threw his eyeglasses down on the table. "You know, it would help a lot if you had a more positive attitude." The boy looked at him. "My advice is to release the method you have. Then if it's found to conflict with the Kohlmann-Stewart method, just apologize and plea for mercy."

"My decision is not to release my method," Robert told him. "I'd like you to do what you can."

The lawyer rubbed his eyes. He put on his glasses. "Okay," he said.

Danny Smith was having trouble with his boss, probably because he was having trouble with his boss. "It's not possible," he said. "Don't worry. I'm telling you, there's no chance." He wished that management had a better grasp of the technical aspect of psychophysics.

"And I'm telling you," his boss growled, "it doesn't matter whether it's possible. People believe it's possible, and it will drive down our enrollment. People will fail to renew, hoping this kid really does have his own algorithm."

Danny shrugged. "If you didn't charge such insane prices, it wouldn't be a problem."

"I am not talking to you about our prices!" his boss shrieked. "I'm talking to you about public confidence in our product."

Danny did not reply. His boss calmed down. "Our lawyers have found that, if there is more than one process available, we need to own the patents to all of them." He took out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead.

"Sure," Danny said, nodding. "Otherwise people can just use our algorithm and pay the cheaper price to the other patent holder."

"People can use our algorithm and pay no price," his boss corrected. "We won't be able to prove that they're using our algorithm, and the competing patent holder won't be able to prove they're using theirs, either. And they can't be made to disclose their process. This kid could shut us down. If you value your job, get to work on it. This project supercedes all others."

"I really don't like being threatened," Danny said. "If you want to motivate me"

"I'm not saying I'll fire you," his boss corrected him. "If you can't figure something out, in a few more months we won't be here."

"Frankly, I don't give a damn if Kohlmann-Stewart folds," Danny told him. "I'm a research psychophysicist. I can get work elsewhere. Not like you. In fact, I'd like to see us get taken down by a ten year old kid. I think charging people to fly is evil." His boss made inarticulate sounds. "I'll see what I can do. I suggest we raise the minimum flight registration period from six months to five years and step up surveillance."

His boss motioned. "I'll put word in. You'll be working with Dayton Blair. I've warned him that you're an iconoclast."

Danny snorted. "Is that what I am?" he asked.

"I figure we'll let the kid rot in the slammer for a few months," Dayton Blair, the public relations man, said. "By then he'll be sick of this game, and he'll just want to go home."

"I guess his Mom is putting out a book," Danny Smith replied. "It's called, Little Robert Little."

"Get with the program," Dayton replied. "We need as many ways of discrediting this kid as you can think of."

Danny shrugged. "I can't think of any."

Dayton glared. "Think harder. We all know that he's pirating our algorithm. We just need proof."

"I liked the approach you took last week," Danny answered. "The other inmate who told the press Little had told him he was using the Kohlmann-Stewart process. That was very slick. Next time try to find someone without a history of schizophrenia. I mean, maybe if you don't tamper with the judicial process, you can avoid actively damaging our position."

"The only thing I need from you is proof that he's using our algorithm," Dayton persisted.

"There is no proof that he's not using our algorithm," Danny replied angrily. "It doesn't exist. There's no such thing. I can't measure what's going on inside his head. For all I know, he is using a brand-new method. It's not possible to measure."

"But you can measure distortions in the Stewart field," Dayton objected. "Why can't you just--"

"I can measure the energy output of a chemical reaction," Danny retorted. "But to tell you where that energy actually comes from, I need to know chemistry and do a little math, because the principles connecting energy output with chemical reactions are well-known. You understand? I can't watch the chemical reaction happen (not with our current technology): I have to use the rules we have discovered to make a hypothesis about the reaction, and then test it. And just like unknown chemical reactions in complex environments are difficult to predict, it's not possible from measurements of distortions in the Stewart field to reverse engineer the algorithm used to generate it. You're looking at the satellite and asking me what kind of rocket got it in orbit."

"Well, work on it anyway," Dayton told him.

Danny snorted. "I'll need some measurements of the kid's Stewart field."

When Robert was taken to court, the Judge looked down her nose at him. "You're the young man who claims that he had a brand-new method of flying?" she asked him.

He nodded. His attorney poked him. He said, "Yes, ma'am."

"You understand how necessary it is for our system to work that we protect the intellectual rights of corporations?" She smiled at him. "You understand that if we do not protect them, the American way of life would become impossible, and that people like you are a threat to and subvert that way of life, the very foundation of everything our society is?"

Robert was sweating. "Ma'am, I didn't infringe on their patent. I have my own method--"

"So you refuse to accept accountability for your actions," the judge said. "Bail set at ten million dollars." She pounded her gavel.

"You got unlucky," his attorney, Carl Frumm, told him. "She doesn't want you out of jail." He looked across at the prosecuting attorney, who shrugged. He steered Robert over.

The prosecuting attorney shook hands with Robert. "Mr. Little, I just want to tell you, I hope you do have a new process for flying. It's ridiculous what Stewart-Kohlmann charges for licensing fees."

Robert said nothing. The man continued, "I hope you understand that I have no control over what happens here. This has become very political. I'm just the axe-man." He turned to Robert's attorney. "Have you advised him to publish his algorithm?"

Carl spread his hands. "I can't give you legal advice," the prosecutor told Robert, "but if I could, I'd tell you to publish whatever you've got."

Robert's mother scurried into the courtroom. "Is it over already? Oh, Robert, I'm so sorry I'm late. I had a meeting with my publisher." She kissed the boy on his forehead. "What did the judge set bail to?" she asked Frumm.

"Ten million."

Betsy gasped. "Ten million! Why, we could put a down payment on a house with that!"

"Bail agencies won't touch it, either. Maybe we can find one, but I doubt it."

"How do you like jail, honey?" Betsy asked Robert. "Do they feed you right?"

"The food's okay," Robert said. "Better than school."

She pecked him on the forehead and said, "You're such a brave little boy. I've got to run. Bye-bye."

The bailiff came over with a set of handcuffs. "Time to go, kid."

They brought Robert back to the big jail, where most of the population were convicts. Although he had joked about it with his mother, the prison, with its asphalt yard, encircled on all sides and above by a chain-link fence, and heavily patrolled by armed guards, reminded him strongly of school.

Robert kept mostly to himself, but this time he happened to see the young man, the protestor, who had been arrested at the same time as Robert. Robert felt curious and walked over.

"Have you had bail set yet?" he asked the young man.

"Me? I've been convicted," the young man replied bitterly. "Five years and two hundred thousand dollars."

"Oh," Robert said. He didn't know what to do, so he just stood there.

The young man swore with contained violence. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this, you know? We thought we'd make a point. We saw everyone protesting on the TV and we thought, yeah, you know? Me and my chick. We wanted to help make the world a better place. And now I'm screwed. I'm just completely screwed. It'll be five years before they let me out of here, and then I'm going to have this killer debt to work off. I'll be twenty-seven with no work experience and a criminal record."

"Isn't five years a lot?" Robert asked.

"I think so!" the young man said. Then: "It's more than most people get. But I had to go in and make a statement. I made a little speech about how the system wasn't fair, so they really nailed me." He bit his lip and looked away.

"What about your girlfriend?"

"I haven't heard." He ran his hands through his hair. "None of my friends have stopped by," he told Robert.

Robert wanted to say something, but he could only stand there. So after a little while, he walked away.

"We never should have let the networks cover it in the first place," Dayton explained to Danny. "I was against it. I put that in writing -- I advised them not to do it. Because it was clear where it would go."

"How can you control what the networks cover?" Danny asked.

Dayton shrugged. "You just ask them not to cover it. But I told my boss it was asking for trouble -- I said it nicely, but I was clear. He wouldn't listen to me. Now it gets out of hand, and it's suddenly my job to see to it that we win in the end. And the reason they picked me is obvious."

"Because you know how the system works," Danny anticipated.

"Because my boss decided against my advice to let the story air. This way if it fails, he can blame me, and if it succeeds, he can say, see? That guy Dayton told us not to air the story, but we did and we won. So either way I lose. He's afraid I'm after his job; which I am, so..."

"What do you mean by 'win?'" Danny asked.

They were having the conversation in a coffee shop, waiting for an employee to appear.

"Oh, real simple. This has to be the story about a little punk kid who thought he could pull one over on us, and got punished for it. Because the American public identifies with him. They want to be him; they're hoping he takes us down. On the one hand, they respect us and they'll buy our crap, but on the other, they're just waiting for us to fall.

"So along comes this kid, and makes this outlandish claim, and everyone is hoping that he'll beat us out. It's a David and Goliath thing. So we need to make it absolutely clear that, first, there is no alternative to Kohlmann-Stewart; and second, if you go up against us, we will destroy you. We will crush you. There will be nothing left. The moral has to be that crime never pays."

"All right, I quit," Danny said.

"Now don't go moralizing. You know full well that we're the good guys here. When you invent something, you own it; and when you own something, you can choose what price to put on it. That's fair."

"Except that our company did not invent psychophysical flight," Danny objected. "A physicist named Stewart did, decades ago, and then his business partner outmaneuvered him and made him an offer he couldn't refuse."

"And Stewart retired rich," Dayton said.

"But Kohlmann got flight," Danny retorted. "Why should Kohlmann get flight? He didn't make it."

"Besides, if the kid wins, there will be no profit motive to continue researching psychflight, or to refine the algorithm, making progress impossible."

"Balls," Danny said. "Training institutions will refine the algorithm and research will happen in academia."

The employee showed up and sat down next to Danny. "I got it," he told them gleefully. "I got the measurements from him in the courtroom." He handed a hand unit to Danny. Danny studied it.

"This doesn't make any sense," Danny observed. "How can he fly like this?"

"Crap!" Dayton exclaimed. "He does have a new method."

"I don't see evidence of any method," Danny said. "What he's doing is not psychophysics at all: there's no field. He found some other way of doing it. Or, he hoaxed the police into thinking he was flying."

Dayton put his hands to his head. "I can't deal with this," he said.

"How high off the ground was he when you took the reading?" Danny asked the employee.

"You mean I had to do it when he was flying?" the employee asked.

"Oh, Jesus!" Danny shouted, causing the people in the coffee shop to look around at him. "You idiot." He tossed the device onto the table.

"You've got to take a reading when he's off the ground," Dayton told the employee.

"Well, you didn't tell me that," the employee said.

"I assumed you knew," Dayton said.

"Don't worry about it," Danny told the employee. "He probably didn't know himself, until just now." Dayton gave him a look. "I'm going to have one of my staff measure his Stewart field. It's a technical procedure anyway. We should have someone with training do it."

"This is a classified project," Dayton told him.

"Then I'll do it myself."

Danny sat on a bench holding a small device in the next room over while Dayton spoke with Robert Little and Carl Frumm, the kid's lawyer. "Look," Dayton said, "you're not going to get off. Nobody believes you. Even your lawyer doesn't believe you. We're willing to cut a deal, but only if you work with us. A kid your age doesn't belong in prison."

"What kind of deal?" the lawyer, Frumm, asked.

"You can either admit to wrongdoing or disclose your procedure."

"I'm not going to tell you my method," the kid said.

"That's fine. In that case, all you have to do is apologize for infringing on our procedure and we'll let you off with a slap on the wrist -- a small fine, for example."

"I have not infringed on your method," Robert Little said, "and I won't apologize for it. I have my own method; I don't need yours. I don't like it; I didn't use it."

"So if you have your own method, why don't you release it?" Dayton demanded.

"Maybe I don't want to release it," Robert said. "It's mine. I made it; it's mine. I shouldn't have to release it if I don't want to."

"Why wouldn't you want to?" Dayton demanded. "Think of the effect you'd have on your fellow man."

"There's already one way to fly; people don't need another one. It doesn't hurt anyone if I keep my method a secret all to myself, or if I'm the only person who can use it to fly."

Frumm told Robert, "But everyone who uses the Kohlmann-Stewart method needs to pay Kohlmann-Stewart: and they charge these killer fees."

"I don't care. That's not my problem. I have my own method, so they don't charge me anything. If I released my method, I'd charge for it too! Why should they get all the money? If people don't like Kohlmann-Stewart's method, they should make their own."

"Except Kohlmann-Stewart is charging you," the lawyer said. "They're charging you just as certainly as you're standing here in jail."

"Maybe we can work something out," the lawyer said. "You can sell us your method--"

"No way!" Robert exclaimed.

"--Well, then, perhaps you can sell us exclusive licensing rights to your method," Dayton continued smoothly. "And you don't even have to tell us what your method is. All you need to do is demonstrate to our satisfaction that what you've got is different from what we've got."

"Don't do it," Frumm said. "He's trying to screw you."

"Not at all," Dayton replied. "In fact, we'll even set it up so that we're partners. You get fifty percent of all profits we make off your method as a result of our marking efforts."

"Sure," Frumm said. "And they charge twice as much for your method so that it doesn't cut into the profits they make off their method. If you're going to sell rights to it, put it up to bid."

"They won't be able to sell it because I'm not going to tell anyone what the method is," Robert told them both.

"I'm sure we can work out some kind of licensing agreement," Dayton said. "We only--"

"Just so you understand this terminology," Frumm said, "I should say that 'exclusive licensing rights' is, for all intents and purposes, the same as ownership. There's no practical difference."

"You would retain ownership," Dayton said. "Your lawyer has a political agenda. As we're setting up the deal, we'll arrange to have you released from prison, as a gesture of good faith."

They could both see that Robert wanted very much to leave prison, but he said nothing.

"We only need to verify that you do, in fact, have a method significantly different from ours," Dayton told him. "I'll set it up with my superiors. But first I'll need to verify that you can actually fly."

"You need to verify that he can fly?" Frumm demanded. "Why is he in prison if he can't fly?"

"Well, certainly you can fly," Dayton Blair told Robert. "But can you fly steadily, like this?" He raised himself a few feet off the ground and hovered there, bobbing only slightly, before settling to the ground. "We need to know if your method is any good," he said.

Wordlessly, Robert floated upwards a few inches and hovered over the ground, before settling back down. In the next room, Danny made several adjustments to his device. Then he slipped it into his pocket and walked out.

"I'll see what I can do," Dayton said. "No promises."

Several hours later, Danny walked into Dayton's office. Dayton looked up.

"I have some news," Danny said. "I've sent you my report--"

Dayton held up a hand. "We have trouble," Dayton told him. "We may lose this whole thing. No, tell me-- does the kid have his own method?" He looked at Danny intently.

Danny shrugged. "I can't tell you that. But his field is very atypical, in terms of the symmetries and internal relationships of the cycles. I've seen weirder. Some people just implement these things in a peculiar fashion. You know, nobody multiplies numbers quite the same, and so forth. So nothing conclusive, but he's certainly doing something unusual."

"So it's not conclusive."

"No. Except-- Well, no, it's not. But my hunch is that there's something going on. At the very least, he's got some oddball implementation of our algorithm."

"We're in trouble," Dayton said. "For one thing, that piece-of-dirt lawyer told the press that I wasn't even convinced that the kid could fly. They want me to comment; I can't very well tell them that I wanted to get some covert readings of his Stewart field."

"Rough," Danny said.

"The other thing is that the mother has put the kid's process up for sale."

"His mom?"

"Yeah, she says she's going to auction it off. I guess she goes over the transcripts of our interactions, and liked the idea."

"I bet the kid isn't too happy with that," Danny said.

"I don't give a crap what makes the kid happy. If I had my way, the kid would have a mysterious accident in the mess hall."

"Out of bounds, Dayton," Danny said quietly. Dayton waved it away.

"I'll go over your report. I have a meeting about this soon -- can you be there? I won't have time to study your report, and I'd rather not jerk these men around when they want specific answers."

"Sure," Danny said. "I'll be there."

"Here with me for the first time live," Brian Davis told America, "Robert Little has agreed to speak directly to the press. Robert Little, is there anything you would like to say?"

The boy looked at the camera and spoke into the mike. "I want everyone to understand that I have absolutely no intention of selling my method. I have not authorized my mother to sell it; I will not be bound by any legal agreement she signs."

"I imagine that some of our viewers are thinking that your mother is simply doing what she thinks is right for you," Brian said. "What would you say to those viewers?"

"If my mother thinks I'm clever enough to develop my own flight algorithm, she should realize I'm bright enough to decide what's right for me. It belongs to me; if she sells it without my consent, that amounts to theft."

"That was the argument that your father made yesterday when he filed for divorce," the reporter told the camera. "What are your feelings on that?"

"I'm not here to discuss my feelings," Robert said.

"That's Robert Little here with me today. This is Brian Davis. Back to you, Jo-Anne," Brian said.

"Thank you, Brian. Of course, Matthew Little has filed for the divorce of his wife, Betsy Little, here with me today. Betsy, how do you respond to your son's claim that he knows better than you do what is best for him?"

"Well, he really is a good boy," Betsy said. "I'm sure he's just feeling a little cranky. I'm sure anyone would, after spending three weeks in that nasty prison."

Betsy's voice faded from the set as Dayton walked into Danny's lab and cranked the volume down. "What is this I hear?"

Danny pointed. Robert's father sat on a lab stool nearby. He looked up from the television as Dayton entered the lab.

"What do you want?" Dayton demanded.

Matt handed him a paper. Dayton examined it. "You want us to drop all charges against your son? Then anybody could use our method without paying for it."

"Read it more carefully," Matt told him. "It says that you agree to suspend the charges until he is twenty-one, that he will do no more flying in that time, and that at that time he can either then admit guilt and acknowledge a monetary debt to you that covers fines and your legal fees, to be worked off by the payment plan shown, or he can disclose to you a method for psychophysical flight which is not based on the Stewart method and grant you five years exclusive licensing rights to that method, at his option."

"It sounds like a good deal to me," Danny said.

Dayton tore it in half. "It's a piece of crap." He waved the pieces. "If the kid does have a new method, it still limits the life of our corporation to fourteen years. If he doesn't, it tells everyone out there that they can get away with murder. And it leaves the public in doubt for nine years." He poked his finger at Matt. "You don't understand. It's your kid who's in prison. Not us."

Impassively, Matt dropped another piece of paper on the countertop. Dayton picked it up. Danny could see a vein in his forehead starting to stand out.

"What is it?" Danny asked.

"It is an announcement, not yet filed, giving free use of the Little algorithm to any individuals who want to use it for non-commercial use. Signed by him."

"But if he doesn't have an algorithm..." Danny objected.

"It doesn't matter!" Dayton shrieked. "We have people arrested for patent infringement, and they argue that they're using the Little algorithm with his permission, and we have this nightmare legal battle on our hands until the end of time."

"I'm going to be filing that tomorrow morning, before the court can make any ruling about my wife's ability to sell the algorithm," Matt told him. "Or you can tape the other one back together, and sign that."

"No," Dayton decided. "It doesn't matter if we have this come to a head now or in fifteen years. Your boy is a criminal, and we're going to treat him like one. Unless you want to sell us exclusive licensing rights in perpetuity, with a full disclosure of the method."

Matt plucked the paper out of Dayton's hands. "I tried. Remember that, when they come down on you."

He walked out.

"It seemed like a good deal to me," Danny told Dayton.

"I don't try to solve technical problems," Dayton replied. "Don't you try to solve legal ones." Danny shrugged.

"I can't believe he would do this to me!" Robert wailed to his lawyer. "Mom at least wanted money for it, but he gave it away for free!"

"Your father is a very clever man," Carl told Robert.

"He is not," Robert insisted. "He's a dumbass. When he did it, he was probably high."

"Hey, kid. Do you want to whine, or do you want to play ball? Because if you're not going to cooperate with me, I'm not going to stay here."

"Nobody worries about cooperating with me," Robert griped.

Carl stood up, packing his briefcase. "That's because you have no power," he said. "You're a stupid little kid who wants everything, and you're about to lose whatever's left." Carl pointed. "Because you're a dumbass, and you'd rather get lost in your feelings than figure out what your best move is."

"Okay, okay, tell me what my best move is," Robert demanded.

"Screw you," Carl told him. "I'm sick of you. I'm resigning -- you'll get another public defendant."

"No, please don't! Please, Carl--" Robert was suddenly filled with a kind of panic. "Please, you're a great friend, I totally appreciate everything you've done for me, and I don't want another lawyer. Please don't go!"

Carl paused and sat on the edge of the table. "I'll tell you how I see it," he told Robert. "I'm not a corporate lawyer. But I can tell you this. If you had put out a license to compete with Kohlmann-Stewart, it's very likely that neither of you would have been able to collect payment for it, because each of you would have had the burden to prove that the citizen had pirated your algorithm and not the other guy's."

"We could have cut a deal together," Robert said. "Me and Kohlmann-Stewart."

"That's true," the lawyer told him. "You could have done exactly that. But even if you were willing to do that after they put you in prison, they would have eaten you alive. You know it. They would have done their best to run you into the ground -- probably, they simply would not have paid you what they owe you, or bankrupt you with litigation. Then when you were bankrupt they could take your algorithm against your debts to them. You simply do not have the resources to fight them, and as long as you try to remain a free agent in competition with them, you will need to fight them.

"You never would have made any money off private flight. But you could make money off commercial flight. That's the realization your father acted on. Now, your mother is about to auction those rights off to the highest bidder. I suggest you realize that this is not the time for your petty childish games. You are like a child who plays chess and likes his bishops. You're put in a bad spot, you're about to lose the game, but you refuse to get out of it because you don't want to give up your bishop.

"This is not about whether you keep your bishop. This is about whether you win or get crushed."

"So how do I win?" Robert asked.

"You publish your algorithm. You ratify your father's decision to give away your algorithm's flying rights to all private citizens in perpetuity. That makes you a hero. Then you acknowledge your mother's decision to sell your algorithm's corporate flying rights to the highest bidder. That makes you rich. And you publish your algorithm so everyone can see whether it's the same as Kohlmann-Stewart's, and that gets you out of jail.

"That's my advice. You think about it." Carl stood up and made to leave the room.

Robert had already decided. "Will you have them send in a machine for me to type something up?" he asked.

"Certainly," Carl said.

"Sir?" Danny's secretary, a short, bald man, cracked the door to his modest office. "It's Dayton Blair again, and he says --"

Danny crashed to the floor, causing the pictures on the wall to shake. "Tell him," he said, getting up, "that I have no information for him until I learn to use the Little algorithm. And explain that these interruptions of his pose a serious obstacle for that. And, tell him that if you open that door again, you're fired -- which, by the way, is true."

The secretary mumbled something and left.

Danny walked over to his desk and stared at the newspaper again. He slowly began to lift, until he was hovering slightly over the office floor.

Outside his office, Dayton stood trembling with anger. "I'm sorry sir," the secretary said. "He's working as fast as he can. But he needs to thoroughly understand the algorithm, he said, and the first step is to learn to use it. But he did say that it looked like it was probably a different method."

"Well, you tell him--"

"I'm sorry sir, he won't let me in the room anymore. Every time I walk in, it breaks his concentration and he falls down. You must have heard him hit when I peeked in just then."

"When he comes out, tell him that I need his verdict as soon as possible. We've got to make a statement to the press."

"Yes, sir."

Dayton stormed off.

Danny poked his head out. "Is he gone?"

"Yes, Mr. Smith."

"Good man. Leave a videomail before he gets back to his office and tell him it's original. Nothing to do with the Stewart algorithm. I'll have to do more checking to see if there's any overlap at all, but I'm almost certain that it's nothing like what we've got." He paused and looked at his secretary. "I guess the kid knew his stuff."

"Could you leave the videomail? I don't want him to be mad at me."

Danny shrugged. "Sure, I'll do it." He went to the desk and made the call.

"Well, Jo-Anne, it seems that Kohlmann-Stewart issued a statement today claiming that the Little algorithm is simply a variation of the traditional Stewart algorithm," Brian Davis read off the holoprompter.

In the control booth, they switched to a clip of a well-dressed man. The caption read, "Dayton Blair, Kohlmann-Stewart spokesman."

"In fact, I have just this moment gotten a videomail from one of our best psychophysics researchers assuring me that this so-called Little algorithm is in all respects simply an alternate derivation of well-known Kohlmann-Stewart principles. Kohlmann-Stewart will aggressively pursue our legal rights in this matter."

Brian saw the indicator light come back on, and he read, "Nevertheless, state officials released the boy from custody earlier today and said that the state would not pursue any further charges in this case. Of course, that does not prevent Kohlmann-Stewart from pressing their own charges." Brian could see that viewers were now watching another clip, also taken earlier that day, of Robert Little running into the arms of his mother in front of the state prison. His father waited until they were done and gave the boy a solemn, respectful handshake; then they embraced, too.

"Well, I'm sure the parents are glad to have their little boy back," Jo-Anne read.

"I'm sure they are, too," Brian read. As he spoke, he saw the view switch back to him, but not before showing the father, mother, and little boy join hands and lift gently into the air, flying away over the tops of the buildings.

"Coming up next, we have Joe Sebastian with the weather," Jo-Anne told the camera. "Joe, what can you tell us?"

Brian Davis listened absently to the weather, his mind still thinking about those three with their hands joined, on their way home. He wondered if personal psychflight would truly become freed; he wondered what would become of Robert Little; most of all, he wondered if his wife had gotten the flowers he had sent her earlier that day.