Raych said, "Come in, Mom. The coast is clear. I've sent Manella and Wanda off somewhere."
    Dors entered, looked right and left out of sheer habit, and sat down in the nearest chair.
    "Thanks," said Dors. For a while she simply sat there, looking as if the weight of the Empire were on her shoulders.
    Raych waited, then said, "I never got a chance to ask you about your wild trip into the Palace grounds. It isn't every guy who has a mom who can do that."
    "We're not talking about that, Raych."
    "Well then, tell me- You're not one for giving anything away by facial expressions, but you look sorta down. Why is that?"
    "Because I feel, as you say, sorta down. In fact, I'm in a bad mood because I have terribly important things on my mind and there's no use talking to your father about it. He's the most wonderful man in the world, but he's very hard to handle. There's no chance that he'd take an interest in the dramatic. He dismisses it all as my irrational fears for his life-and my subsequent attempts to protect him."
    "Come on, Mom, you do seem to have irrational fears where Dad's concerned. If you've got something dramatic in mind, it's probably all wrong."
    "Thank you. You sound just like he does and you leave me frustrated. Absolutely frustrated."
    "Well then, unburden yourself, Mom. Tell me what's on your mind. From the beginning."
    "It starts with Wanda's dream."
    "Wanda's dream! Mom! Maybe you'd better stop right now. I know that Dad won't want to listen if you start that way. I mean, come on. A little kid has a dream and you make a big deal of it. That's ridiculous."
    "I don't think it was a dream, Raych. I think what she thought was a dream were two real people, talking about what she thought concerned the death of her grandfather."
    "That's a wild guess on your part. What possible chance does this have of being true?"
    "Just suppose it is true. The one phrase that remained with her was `lemonade death.' Why should she dream that? It's much more likely that she heard that and distorted the words she heard-in which case, what were the undistorted words?"
    "I can't tell you," said Raych, his voice incredulous.
    Dors did not fail to catch that. "You think this is just my sick invention. Still, if I happen to be right, I might be at the start of unraveling a conspiracy against Hari right here in the Project."
    "Are there conspiracies in the Project? That sounds as impossible to me as finding significance in a dream."
    "Every large project is riddled with angers, frictions, jealousies of all sorts."
    "Sure. Sure. We're talking nasty words and faces and nose thumbing and tale bearing. That's nothing at all like talking conspiracy. It's not like talking about killing Dad."
    "It's just a difference in degree. A small difference-maybe."
    "You'll never make Dad believe that. For that matter, you'll never make me believe that." Raych walked hastily across the room and back again, "And you've been trying to nose out this so-called conspiracy, have you?"
    Dors nodded.
    "And you've failed."
    Dors nodded.
    "Doesn't it occur to you that you've failed because there is no conspiracy, Mom?"
    Dors shook her head. "I've failed so far, but that doesn't shake my belief that one exists. I have that feeling."
    Raych laughed. "You sound very ordinary, Mom. I would expect more from you than `I have that feeling."'
    "There is one phrase that I think can be distorted into `lemonade.' That's `layman-aided.' "
    "Laymanayded? What's that?"
    "Layman-aided. Two words. A layman is what the mathematicians at the Project call nonmathematicians."
    "Well?"
    "Suppose," interjected Dors firmly, "someone spoke of `laymanaided death,' meaning that some way could be found to kill Hari in which one or more nonmathematicians would play an essential role. Might that not have sounded to Wanda like `............