s discarnate. I did find out
that the experimental work she's done, so far, has absolutely
disproved the theory of Statistical Reincarnation. The Volitionalists'
theory is solidly established."

"Yes, what do you think, Olirzon?" Marnik added. "They have a case on
record of a man who worked up from field hand to millionaire in five
reincarnations. Deliberately, that is." He went on to repeat what
Harnosh of Hosh had said; he must have possessed an almost eidetic
memory, for he gave the bearded psychicist's words verbatim, and threw
in the gestures and voice-inflections.

Olirzon grinned. "You know, there's a chance for the easy-money boys,"
he considered. "'You, too, can Reincarnate as a millionaire! Let Dr.
Nirzutz of Futzbutz Help You! Only 49.98 System Monetary Units for the
Secret, Infallible, Autosuggestive Formula.' And would it sell!" He
put away the hone and the bit of leather and slipped his knife back
into its sheath. "If I weren't a respectable Assassin, I'd give it a
try, myself."

Verkan Vall looked at his watch. "We'd better get something to eat,"
he said. "We'll go down to the main dining room; the Martian Room, I
think they call it. I've got to think of some way to let the Lady
Dallona know I'm looking for her."

* * * * *

The Martian Room, fifteen stories down, was a big place, occupying
almost half of the floor space of one corner tower. It had been fitted
to resemble one of the ruined buildings of the ancient and vanished
race of Mars who were the ancestors of Terran humanity. One whole side
of the room was a gigantic cine-solidograph screen, on which the
gullied desolation of a Martian landscape was projected; in the course
of about two hours, the scene changed from sunrise through daylight
and night to sunrise again.

It was high noon when they entered and found a table; by the time they
had finished their dinner, the night was ending and the first glow of
dawn was tinting the distant hills. They sat for a while, watching the
light grow stronger, then got up and left the table.

There were five men at a table near them; they had come in before the
stars had grown dim, and the waiters were just bringing their first
dishes. Two were Assassins, and the other three were of a breed Verkan
Vall had learned to recognize on any time-line--the arrogant,
cocksure, ambitious, leftist politician, who knows what is best for
everybody better than anybody else does, and who