The man I searched for could be anybody at all. If I didn't find him, there'd be nobody at all. One more city. The pattern went on. One more city to search for a man I did not know, whose face I would not recognize. I had no copy of either his fingerprints or encephalograph, or any other clue to his identity. Yet he had to be found. At one time he had been my best friend. His name was Howard Zealley then. He wouldn't be using the same name now. And the "bug" in his brain would by this time have