to Earth's war, and which
could be duplicated nowhere else in the known universe.

It was Bertrand Malloy's job to keep the production output high and to
keep the materiel flowing towards Earth and her allies and outposts.

The job would have been a snap cinch in the right circumstances; the
Saarkkada weren't difficult to get along with. A staff of top-grade men
could have handled them without half trying.

But Malloy didn't have top-grade men. They couldn't be spared from work
that required their total capacity. It's inefficient to waste a man on a
job that he can do without half trying where there are more important
jobs that will tax his full output.

So Malloy was stuck with the culls. Not the worst ones, of course; there
were places in the galaxy that were less important than Saarkkad to the
war effort. Malloy knew that, no matter what was wrong with a man, as
long as he had the mental ability to dress himself and get himself to
work, useful work could be found for him.

Physical handicaps weren't at all difficult to deal with. A blind man
can work very well in the total darkness of an infrared-film darkroom.
Partial or total losses of limbs can be compensated for in one way or
another.

The mental disabilities were harder to deal with, but not totally
impossible. On a world without liquor, a dipsomaniac could be channeled
easily enough; and he'd better not try fermenting his own on Saarkkad
unless he brought his own yeast--which was impossible, in view of the
sterilization regulations.

But Malloy didn't like to stop at merely thwarting mental quirks; he
liked to find places where they were _useful_.

* * * * *

The phone chimed. Malloy flipped it on with a practiced hand.

"Malloy here."

"Mr. Malloy?" said a careful voice. "A special communication for you has
been teletyped in from Earth. Shall I bring it in?"

"Bring it in, Miss Drayson."

Miss Drayson was a case in point. She was uncommunicative. She liked to
gather in information, but she found it difficult to give it up once it
was in her possession.

Malloy had made her his private secretary. Nothing--but _nothing_--got
out of Malloy's office without his direct order. It had taken Malloy a
long time to get it into Miss Drayson's head that it was perfectly all
right--even desirable--for her to keep secrets from everyone except
Malloy.

She came in through the door, a rather handsome woman in her middle
thirt