nother assignment for Destinyworkers,
Inc.

It was early evening at the Greenlawn Apartments, a time supposedly
of contentment, yet Mrs. Mimms was quick to sense the disturbing
vibrations in the warm air. She pressed through the crowds entering
and leaving the supermarket. A faint mustache of perspiration formed
on her upper lip. No one offered to help her with the bags. With a
professional eye Mrs. Mimms noted the drawn mouths, the tense
expressions typical of the Time Zone and shook her head. Central as
usual had not been wrong; the Briefing Officer himself had cautioned
her on what poor shape the Zonal area was in.

Jostling Mrs. Mimms on all sides were mostly young men and women
accompanied by energetic, wriggling children of varying ages. It
saddened Mrs. Mimms to see the premature lines forming in the youthful
mothers' foreheads, and the gray settling too quickly into the men's
hair. Mrs. Mimms, who considered herself not quite in the twilight of
middle age, was just 107 that month.

Outbursts of juvenile and adult temper grated harshly in the
Destinyworker's ears. She witnessed a resounding slap and a child's
cry of pain. A young mother was shouting angrily: "Couldn't _you_ have
kept an eye on her? Do I have to watch her every minute?"

Mrs. Mimms hurried swiftly on for there was much she had to do. Then
she stopped abruptly before a small delicatessen. She entered and gave
the clerk her order:

"One package of Orange Pekoe Tea, if you please. Tea _leaves_, not
bags."

There were definite advantages, thought Mrs. Mimms, in being assigned
to any century preceding the Twenty-Third. Due to the increasing use
of synthetic products in Mrs. Mimms' home-century the tea plant, among
other vegetation, had been allowed to become extinct. Ever since Mrs.
Mimms' solo assignment to Eighteenth Century England, she had grown
exceedingly fond of the beverage.

Ten minutes later Mrs. Mimms, one of Destinyworkers' best Certified
Priority Operators, reached the Renting Office of the Greenlawn
Apartments. "I do hope the Superintendent is still on duty," panted
Mrs. Mimms, setting her bags down very carefully. "If the Research
Department is correct--and it usually is--his hours are from 9 to
6:30."

It was one minute past 6:30 when Mrs. Mimms knocked.

"Yeah?" boomed a disgruntled voice. "Come on in. It ain't locked."

"Good evening," said Mrs. Mimms to a young man in work clothes seated
behind a paper-strewn desk. "I h